


Hold to the now, the here

by Oparu



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fertility Issues, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-03-11 05:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13517115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oparu/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: Before Bahrain, Melinda May wanted to be a parent. Years later, she’s finally started to recover from the trauma of her experience and knowing she raised Robin in the future makes her wonder if she could still be a mother.Phil wants to help however he can, and if that means being a dad, he’ll do it. (He’s always liked kids).Daisy thinks it’s a great idea.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Ulysses.
> 
> Shameless emotional baby fic, because after the last couple episodes, I needed it. 
> 
> Many thanks to imaginationallcompact for betaing and promising to hold my hand. 
> 
> Teen so far because Daisy swears.

"Two weeks," he said, staring at all of them. "We're all taking two weeks off. No crises, no saving the world, no being uploaded or travelling through time, we're just off. Even off the grid if we need to be."

  
Fitz and Simmons take off almost before he's done talking. Mack and Elena hold hands as they leave, smiling at each other. They're all coupley. She's surrounded by people with another half, and she's not...so...she'll just eat ice cream and like figure out what's been on TV while she's been saving the world. That show she started is probably done and who knows if she can even find it. What movies have been out? Maybe she just won't get dressed for days, eat all the chips. It'll be good.

  
They're still rebuilding the base around them, so it's noisy, construction people everywhere, repairing after the bomb LMD May set off. It's a good time to be gone, Coulson's good at that.

  
Daisy packs her bag, ready to run off to some hotel, somewhere with a pool and just disappear from the world because everyone else has a place to be and someone to be with. She even catches a glimpse of Coulson touching May's arm, of them talking in low voices.

  
May finally got released from medical and they said her wound was healing really well, considering, but she still limps a little because there was a huge hole in her thigh and she kept going on that filthy station.  
Two weeks of healing will be good for her, good for all of them.

  
She's just about off the base, gone to a hotel room and two weeks and take out, when Coulson sees her, calls her name from the Quinjet. "Daisy, come with us."

  
She stops, turns back. May's smiling at his side, comfortable, content, and Coulson's got that look. "It'll be a boring tour of the pubs in Ireland where we read books and look out for sheep while we're hiking."

  
"No, I've got--"

  
"Come with us." May has that mom face again and Coulson smirks.

"You've got nothing, just come. I'll buy you dinner."

  
"Every night," May adds for him, heading for the cockpit.

  
The first pub they're in, the nice bartender, pub keeper, lady with the beer, whatever they're called here, looks at Daisy, then Coulson and May, and nods. "Nice to see a family travelling together. Second honeymoon or are you moving away, breaking their hearts?"

  
Daisy turns back, almost wondering if they've somehow started kissing while she wasn't looking, but they're just reading the guidebook together, May's hand on Coulson's arm and yes, they're really fucking married. Kind of too young to be her parents, I mean, maybe, but they would have been young and they look good for their age, especially May who is clearly an ageless immortal being.

  
"It was just time to take a vacation- holiday--" That's how they say it here. "Thanks."

  
Daisy starts to leave a few coins behind but no one tips here, so she pockets her euros instead and returns to her parents, beers balanced together. They split two bags of chips and she was fully intending to work on this coding project she's been putting off on her phone but ends up half-assedly watching the rugby match (with no idea what's going on) and watching them. Coulson has that huge old book and May's reading something in Chinese and they're so calm about it. Sometimes they pause, mutter something to each other or smile and it's not like Fitz and Simmons who always seem to want to make out or run off together to be alone, and there's none of that inside joke let's disappear stuff like Mack and Yo-yo because they're just not a couple.

  
Not a couple like either of them.

  
They're so calm it's spooky. Beautiful. Like they've been married thirty years. They go with it. Coulson and May share a room at the inn and Daisy has her own tiny little room with a soft bed and funky flowered curtains and it's really damn cute. Way better than the plain white hotel bed she could get somewhere.

  
There's even Netflix, with other stuff, stuff in German and weird Italian horror movies and there's no mini bar but they sell literally everything at the Tesco, and the beer is cheap and really good and potato chips come in tomato flavor, so what the hell.

  
She sees them at breakfast and they don't kiss, but they hold hands when the three of them go to the movies. When they go to a fancy dinner on Thursday, May wears a dress and Daisy stares more than Coulson does.

May in a dress. No the sparkly silver thing she wore undercover, this is a real dress, practical, dark. Probably has pockets and a gun, and she still has a leather jacket because it's raining (it always rains here) but maybe it's just a sign she's relaxed. That they're comfortable.

  
Popcorn comes in sweet and salty and it's awesome. She mixes them together and gets a beer while Star Wars drags them all back to space for a couple hours. She wonders if the Jedi are all inhumans while May puts her head on Coulson's shoulder and he rests his head on hers and they're almost too cute for fucking words. She'd take a picture and send it to Simmons but she probably won't even get out of bed and look at her phone for days so maybe it's just better if she just smiles at them and holds the popcorn bag.

  
Coulson misses Han Solo. May speculates about how that lightspeed trick might have worked. They could ask Fitz but-- The three of them share a look that's all "he's not going to answer his phone either".

  
So they get a beer in a little dive and head back to the inn. Monday, they move to a smaller town with a big old castle and they do the touristy stuff, like walk along the beach in the rain and get tea and cake that has jam inside (which is really cool but a little odd and she really should have watched that baking show with Jemma when she was into it).

  
Still calm, still easy. Still the quietest, nicest, least demanding trip she's ever been on. Coulson and May keep paying for things. They're both the most coupley of all the couples and yet the easiest because she never feels weird. They don't stare into each other's eyes like the world could end all around them, they don't disappear to fuck for hours. They're just there and she's here and they go to old little churches and pubs with uneven floors and eat meat pies and bangers and mash.

  
It's in the second week that something shifts, also gently, because everything here is soft green and their feelings are apparently as gentle as the rolling hills. May holds Coulson's hand in public, he rests his on her back when they go through doors. They're closer, somehow, like they've said something, talked about something. Daisy sleeps in on a Tuesday and doesn't see them until lunch and May's eyes are haunted.

  
"I can go, fly back on my own, go see London--"

  
"No, no," Coulson promises. "She's okay."

  
"She's not okay. I should go, let you two talk."

  
"We're talking," he says, patting her shoulder. "She just needs some time. Maybe she'll talk to you."

  
"May doesn't talk to me about her problems."

  
Coulson shrugs, then finishes his beer. "Why not?"

  
"Because I'm me and she's May and--"

  
"Having one person in your life to talk to isn't enough, no matter how good of a listener he is," Coulson says, resting his hands on the dark wood table top. "Or how charming."

  
It's not really a request, but neither of them would make one. May's not just going to get up tomorrow and want to talk.  
In the morning, she's standing there, in the garden behind the inn, not doing tai chi. Daisy clings to her coffee and stares, because May's really just sitting there with a blanket around her shoulders.

  
"I'd offer you coffee, but you hate it."

  
May smiles a little. "The tea here isn't very good either."

  
"It's okay if you put milk in it, but maybe you hate that too?"

  
"Hate's a strong word."

  
"There might be some green tea around, I can look."

  
"Daisy, it's fine."

  
Which means she has no exit. Sit here, talk to May, see what's bothering her. What's been bugging her since they got back. "You okay?"

  
May turns her head, studying Daisy's face. "No, I don't think I am."

  
"Coulson helping?" She's not sure what she'll get. Some kind of confession that they're together?

  
Shutting her eyes, May tilts her head towards the pale sun in the clouds. "He's made it worse."

  
"Sounds like him."

  
"It is him." Opening her eyes, May looks past Daisy towards the rolling green hills. "We almost dated once, right before Andrew and I went out."

  
Daisy almost drops her coffee. "Seriously? I knew you were close but you dated?"

  
"Almost. I fell in love with Andrew."

  
"I'm sorry."

  
"Don't be." May's hand finds her wrist, warm in the cool morning. "We were happy, until we weren't."

  
"After what happened--"

  
"You've said it before, Daisy." May meets her eyes, and hers are so dark they could be the sea Coulson keeps reading about.  
_When I was pissed at you and my mom was manipulating me and I wanted to hurt you._

  
"I killed a child."

  
"She was going to kill you and a whole bunch of people."

  
"Doesn't make it better."

  
"Can anything?"

  
May lets go of the blanket a little, sits up. "I didn't think so."

  
She could fish, try and dig it out, or wait. With May it's always about waiting. Being patient. "Robin really made you think, huh?"

  
"I can't be someone's mother."

  
"She adored you." Everyone saw that. "I don't know what happened, but you were her mom. You were an awesome mom."

  
"In a post-apocalyptic, terrible scenario."

  
"So it would be easier in a non-apocalypsed world. You'd be better." That was stupid thing to say.

  
May's face crumbles, as if she can't hold her emotions together. That's almost scarier than the apocalypse.

  
"If that was something you wanted. You've been like a mom to me."

  
"I was your SO."

  
"You're a hell of a lot more than that. My mom tried to kill me, you- I guess you're the closest thing to a mom I've ever had. If I had one, a real mom, I'd want one like you. Even with the stupidly early curfew."

  
"Daisy--"

  
Fuck, she's gone way too far and said too much and wow she should just stop talking.

  
Then May hugs her, tight, really tight. May would never cry, ever. Ireland's just really wet.

  
"Your mother should never have let you go."

  
Daisy's eyes sting, and she cries. She can cry. She does that. May doesn't, she wouldn't.

  
"I wouldn't."

* * *

 

  
It's really late when she finds Coulson alone, after May's gone to bed, sitting in the corner of the pub, reading. He hasn't made it very far through _Ulysses_ but it's like the densest book in the world so that's progress.

  
"I think May cried."

  
He sets down his book, gently tucks a piece of ribbon into it and looks up at her and the shots of whiskey she brought to the table. "She does have emotions."

  
"I just--" She shivers and reaches for the whiskey, downing it in one. "What happened?"

  
He drinks his own shot much more politely, smiling a little at the glass "You picked a good one." He rests his hands on the book. "You'll need to be more specific about May."

  
"She's shaky, and it's not her leg. She's emotional."

  
"She's going through a lot."

  
"Being a mom to Robin?"

"Not just that, hang on." Coulson stands, ordering two more glasses of whiskey, doubles. It's that kind of secret. "She won't mind that i'm telling you, so don't think that this is some kind of secret. May would tell you, if she could."

  
Daisy's heart thuds so hard in her chest that her fingers shake when she reaches for the glass. "That's comforting in no way at all."

  
"Before Bahrain, she and Andrew wanted to start a family, did she tell you that?"

  
Whatever Coulson bought is way too nice to drink desperately, but it is delicious. Sweet and warm, but May was going to have a kid. Fuck.  "No."

  
"She was going to stay in the field, because she loves it, but they were trying."

  
Trying. Trying to get pregnant. May was going to get pregnant and have a baby and be a mom, and then she had to kill a kid who was ready to kill a whole building full of people, maybe a city after that.

  
Daisy took another sip, shaking her head. Her eyes stung again and she couldn't have looked at May. "And then she--"

  
"Then she couldn't. Could barely stand being around kids at first. Couldn't stand anyone. She was so funny, Daisy. So warm, gentle. She used to make fun of me for being uptight."

  
"You are uptight."

  
"Thanks." He lifts his glass, clinking it against hers. "She's getting back to that, she's forgiven herself a lot."

  
"But that's not it."

  
"Trauma like that you don't just get over."

  
"So why now? What's changed? How did you make it worse?"

  
Coulson half-chokes on his whiskey. "I reminded her of something."

  
"What?"

  
"It's not over."

  
"Huh?"

  
He sighs, stares at the book, then looks at her. "Field agents are exposed to strange things. Radiation, oh-eight-fours, starting a family isn't the easiest thing for any of us, so most of the high level field agents have their genetic material frozen. SHIELD has pretty advanced tech, way ahead of what was available to the general public."

  
"So you're saying May has eggs, frozen."

  
"She could still be a mom."

  
There's not enough whiskey in the world for that. May would be a great mom. A fucking awesome mom and if that's what she wants.

  
"With you, right? That's what made it worse."

  
"I believe what made it worse is that I'd have a child with her, not that there's anything wrong with me being--"

  
"The father." Fuck. "You should do it. You should totally do it, you'd be great parents."

  
"Thanks, Daisy."

  
"I mean it."

  
"I know. She knows, it's just not easy."

  
"How can I help? What can I do there's gotta be something I can--"

  
"Daisy-"

  
"Yeah?"

  
"Just listen."

  
Which is the least useful thing anyone could have said because May doesn't talk. At all. Coulson has to tell her stuff. How can Daisy listen?

  
She stares at him and the whiskey and her own desperately empty glass. "And you're ready to do your part. The being a dad part."

  
"She's always had my back."

  
Having a baby together was really kind of above and beyond having her back, but Coulson would see it that way. Couldn't really picture either of them having a kid with anyone else. Parents. They were going to be fucking parents. She knows fuck all about IVF and whatever came next, but she slipped around the table and hugged him, tight.

  
"You'll be great."

  
"Thanks Daisy."

  
"Really great." And then she was fucking crying again. Coulson's eyes were bright too, and the darkness of the pub hid it pretty well in that back corner.

  
"Are you excited?"

  
"Yeah," he said, stumbling over the word. "I really am. It's not a great time, SHIELDs a mess and--"

  
"It's the best time."

  
"It is." He held onto her, hugging her again. "Thanks for coming out here."

  
"Are you kidding? I love Ireland, especially the sheep, I mean...we should move here." And raise a kid. May and Coulson's kid., like. Fuck. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda tries to figure out how she feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so very much to imagination all compact.

 Tests blend into each other as her doctor in Ireland speaks to the SHIELD physicians across the world. The blood tests are simple, she doesn't feel the needle and Phl's there, smiling, reading his book out loud when she needs a distraction. The ultrasound is far more uncomfortable, and all the tea she drank that morning isn't enough so she has to drink another liter of water and wait.

 _Ulysses_ drifts over her in Phil's voice, half poetry, half clunky prose. Joyce makes a mess of his words, and Phil agrees it’s pompous, but he's reading for the journey. Sometimes he's reading for her.

Her polite Irish doctor doesn't pull her punches. Without technology, they'd never get pregnant, and it might be hard. This might not work. Since their gametes haven’t been through the hell they've been through and they've been frozen since they were much younger, they have a chance. They'll have to transfer frozen embryos, if they even get that far, and she wants to start hormones that afternoon to see if her body will react as it should.

Across the planet their DNA has already met, divided once, and divided again. It's happening at speeds where she can't focus, where she can't see, and usually she can track everything.

Yet time rushes and crawls, and her body aches when she retreats to the bathroom, scrubbing off goo with paper towels, letting her bladder empty because they saw what they needed. Her stomach cramps, twisting below her navel. They warned her it would, and she's been through far worse, but this drags at her. Gnaws, and when Phil's there in the hall outside the bathroom, she steps into his arms as if he can shield her from the world without and the war within.

"We'll get you some ibuprofen and take it easy."

She had the first injection half an hour ago, while the doctor explained how Phil could give her the next one. He's steady, like always, warm and gentle. Start now, wait a few weeks, then add more hormones, tricking her body into believing the impossible.

Her head aches, and Phil kisses her forehead. "You can stop whenever you need to."

She doesn't have words for stopping, or starting, or any of this. She's let him speak, depended on him to be calm when her hands tremble.

They'll see a psychologist when they get back, separately, together, and the whole thing is ridiculous. She can't be a mom. She'll just make herself sick for a few weeks of useless hope and face reality when she crashes into it.

Phil picks up the prescription, charming the pharmacist while she wonders why it's always injections that turn her stomach in knots more than pills. She's been on some pretty nasty stuff, antibiotics that made her vomit for days and tissue regenerators that made her delirious, but the shot they gave her today has turned her stomach into a roiling sea. Worse than coffee.

Maybe it's her emotions that made all of this so intense. She can't remember her time with Robin, but her face appears in her dreams. She was so sure, so loving, so utterly unafraid.

She can't be a mother.

She taps Phil's arm, and he pulls over the rental car on the empty road between Galway and the village he's hidden them in. The air hits her face, cool and wet, and if she throws up it's not the first time he's held her hair back. She's been sick, he's been there, time and again. After Bahrain... and there was that undercover mission in southern Ukraine when she got food poisoning so badly that he had to carry her to the doctor who spoke no English and pretend they were hapless tourists.

He was very protective of his wife. She threw up water into a plastic bucket in his hands while the nurses praised him for being such a caring husband.

This time, it's would just be tea, and she can't say what her body's trying to tell her. The fog creeps in heavy, closing them in. It's so much harder to shut out her thoughts.

"It's okay if the hormones are hitting you hard; I've held your hair back before."

She shakes her head. Stupid choice, because her vision swims. "The nerves are worse."

Phil's smile is too soft to look at. "They are."

He sits on the road, jeans against wet pavement and she curls into him, resting her head on his shoulder while he holds her close. "Nausea's on the list of side effects, be gentle with yourself."

"I can deal with nausea," she insists. Sheep wander on the hills in the distance, white against the green. "This is different."

Fear gnaws at her, insistent and overwhelming.

"How are you so calm?"

"I've looked into the eyes of death enough lately that I want to see life. We're always protecting the world, let’s bring someone into it. Add another life to protect." He touches her hair, leaning close, and they're at the cliff again, staring over. Joyce's endless, swallowing sea stares up at them. There's no doubt that they'll do this together. There's no one she'd rather share a child with, no one she trusts more. How they do this is up to them. They've been sharing a bed since they got here, sleeping wound into each other, but it's comfortable, not romantic.

Perhaps that makes it more so.

She's lost him. He's lost her, but they're still here, facing each other. He kisses her hair again, pulling her closer.

"When you're ready, we'll go."

He's so careful with cars. He'd be so much worse with Lola than this little rental car with the steering wheel on the other side.

What if she's never ready? She could barely look at the little dark void of her uterus on the ultrasound screen. How can she look at a child? How could she nurture one? She looked after Robin but Robin had no one else.

Robin's serene, loving face rises in her memory and she shifts to look at Phil, needing his steadiness. She touches his cheek, brushing her thumb against his stubble from this morning. He doesn't blink, doesn't look away, doesn't even have to speak to tell her it's all right. They're safe together. She's safe.

He's always been willing to wait for her. Through Andrew, through silence, through the hell after Bahrain when she was just gone. She couldn't talk to Andrew and all that fell apart. Her marriage fell apart. She couldn't talk to Phil and he waited. Andrew would have waited too, but she's lost him.

Lost Trip and Mace and Robin.

Death keeps clawing, reaching up for the people around them and the whole damn world and they fight back, day after day. Phil has her back.

She lingers so long that the sheep must have started to stare, but the fog holds them. No other cars pass them, and they're outside the twisting loops of time and space and all the responsibilities the world piles on them.

"It's okay," he says, his lips bright and soft. He means you don't have to kiss me. That he knows how she feels, that he has no doubts left between them.

He'll wait.

Melinda's sick of waiting. Kissing him is an event horizon. Cutting anchor lines and floating free. She's never been afraid to follow him, but the kiss is something she leads, bringing their mouths together, meeting his lips. It's chaste and warm, something that makes it easier for her heart to beat through the stone in her chest, and he turns closer, pressing into her, reaching into her hair.

Contact.

Her eyes sting, his lips part against hers, and her heart pounds in her chest, rushes in her ears.

"Feel any better?"

She laughs, resting her chin against his cheek. "Tell me I kiss better than the robot."

He lifts her chin. "You kiss better than anyone."

Kissing his fingertips, she smiles.

* * *

 

Back in the little stone rental cottage, Daisy has a fire going and the fog has turned to quiet rain. They head in, Phil with his bag full of groceries. He teases Daisy and starts making dinner, cutting vegetables, boiling water. He never gets to cook and he loves it. Phil's taken over their little kitchen, making their breakfasts and dinner, teasing Daisy about how she chops potatoes.

He touches her back, rubbing in a little circle. "I'll get you some more tea."

"I'm fine."

"You'll drink tea." He touches her chin again, tilting up her eyes. "How's your head?"

"It's fine."

"Oh, that kind of fine," he teases, touching her hair. "Go sit with Daisy, help her pick a movie."

Daisy smiles over her laptop, scrolling through something. "I found a movie about blood-sucking space aliens that die if your blood has too much alcohol in it, which sounds awesome. It's made here, well, like over there--" She points to the north. "In the other Ireland, but like...it's supposed to be really funny."

Melinda sits down on the sofa, dropping her head to her hands when it swims again. Worse than taking a hard barrel roll in a quinjet.

"You okay?"

"My doctor thought we should start hormone shots today."

"Like right now?"

"Two hours ago," she answers, tilting her head towards the little white bag with the syringes. "It's just for a couple weeks."

"And?"

"And they're not very pleasant." Phil says, setting a cup of tea down in front of her. "Daisy, do you want anything?"

"There's a bunch of beer in the fridge. I got one of the ones we hadn't tried yet, because we can't just drink Guiness the whole time, even though it's good."

"I'll grab you one."

She shifts the little projector Fitz sent them with and leans back, content. "We're ready."

"Bloodsucking aliens weren't a little close to home?"

"They come out of the sea, we haven't dealt with sea monsters yet."

Phil returns with a beer and a plate of crackers. Daisy raises an eyebrow and Melinda sits back, ignoring them for the moment.

"You sure you're okay?"

Phil touches her shoulder before he heads back into the kitchen.

She swallows the protest that she's fine.  "I'm a little nauseated."

"Hormones suck."

"Phil has the list of side effects."

"So he can watch for all of them?"

"He likes to fuss."

"No kidding." Daisy leaves her chair, moving her beer to the coffee table as she sits down. "You're really brave, doing this. It's really cool."

"Doesn't feel brave."

Daisy reaches up, and she hesitates, because though she has a heart like Phil's, she's not accustomed to being wanted, to having a family. Reaching up, Melinda squeezes her fingers.

"Were you the one who told me being brave didn't have to mean not being afraid?"

"I think you got that from a movie, but that doesn't mean it's not true."

"Hard to get it to stick though, isn't it?"

"Very hard."

Phil returns with the teapot, refilling her tea. He sets it down for a moment and sits on the coffee table. "How's your stomach? Fine, or really fine?"

She rolls her eyes and Phil and Daisy share a look.

"It's all right, you know."

"I know." She looks from Daisy to Phil, meeting their eyes. "I do."

“Save the stoicism for when we need it."

Daisy starts to smile. "That's such a mom face."

Phil smirks and nods. "It is."

She's not even making a face, they're both just ridiculous people.

"Dinner in a couple minutes, why don't you start the movie?"

Daisy returns to her laptop, tapping a few keys before the projector pops on. "Apparently it's very Irish."

"I'm sure it's good." It is pretty funny, the accents are exaggerated a little, but she's heard some people here that have been difficult to understand. Phil makes them pause it and arrives with homemade soup and grilled cheese.

"I know you're not hungry, but try."

He actually makes a very good leek and potato soup, and he's aware of it. Kind of smug.

The Garda track down the sea creatures and she finishes half her grilled cheese before it's too much. Slipping it over Phil's lap, she drops it on Daisy's plate.

"You should eat this," Daisy says, tearing off a corner.

"I ate."

"Not very much," Phil says. He pulls her closer. "You're getting crumbs on my pants."

"I'm eating."

Daisy passes her another corner of grilled cheese. It is really good, Phil knows what he's doing in the kitchen, but her chest is so tight that it's hard to swallow. Andrew used to say it was anxiety, the unstoppable fear that something worse would happen. That she'd go back there.

It was too much.

Phil wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in. Daisy curls up next to him and the heroes on the film start getting drunk to protect themselves against the blood sucking sea aliens.

"You know, she reminds me of Jemma," Phil says, finishing his beer to the right of her head.

"Who?"

"I know the accent is wrong, but she's so earnest."

"Definitely like that when she's drunk."

"You got Jemma drunk?"

"She got herself drunk, thanks," Daisy says, rolling her eyes. "I'm not always a bad influence."

"Not always," Phil teases.

Melinda shuts her eyes, listening to them talk while the movie continues. Jemma and Fitz are happy, decorating their apartment and spending time together. Mack and Yoyo have barely been answering their texts, but that's a good sign. Everyone got some time to do what they needed to do.

Daisy's fingers are just past Phil's knee and while the film winds to its climax, Melinda reaches for her, squeezing her hand. Daisy looks at her across Phil, eyes full of questions.

"I'm glad you came with us."

"Yeah?"

"Phil choses terrible movies."

"I do?"

"You really do."

He scoffs, arguing with Daisy about the merits of some action movie while the credits roll.

"I'll clean up," Daisy says, standing up to stretch. "You go to bed."

"I don't need to go to bed," Melinda protests, but she stands, touches Daisy's shoulder than heads to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Phil takes a moment longer, then slips in next to her.

"I'm glad she's here too."

Smiling around her toothbrush, she touches his arm before slipping past him into the bedroom. He's gone long enough for her to change clothes, stealing one of his shirts because there's something nice about the Captain America one. It's her favorite. His too, but he lets her take it.

Phil sets the little white bag from the pharmacy on the dresser and holds up a vial, filling a syringe. "Where do you want it? Stomach or thigh?"

Pulling up his stolen shirt, she exposes her stomach for the needle. "I guess I should alternate."

He injects her quickly, and it's only mildly uncomfortable for a moment. She hisses a little and his hands remain against her stomach, rubbing little circles to soften the sting. He’s so close to her skin that he could kiss her, burying his mouth against her stomach.

She'd let him, tug him closer, rub his head and whisper her arousal. Melinda would even welcome his touch, but he's tentative. She strokes his head, pulling him in.

"Looks like you finally figured out how to fully commit to a mission."

He stares up at her, eyes bright. "Oh really?"

"I mean, it seems like it." She sits down on the bed, holding his head in her hands. "So far."

Smiling, he kisses her cheek. "Only if you're up for it."

"You'll be gentle."

He kisses her, saving them both from having to speak. When they part, catching their breath, he nods. "I'd feel terrible."

"Softie."

Rising to kiss her at a better, angle, he leans her back, pressing her back on the bed. "Yes, I am soft."

 _With you,_ remains unspoken, like so much else between them.

"I like that," she murmurs, slipping off her shirt. Her bare chest presses against his a moment later and she's not cold once he tugs her in. The scar in the center of his chest brushes against her breast and she rests her hand against it, making it hers. He only winces a little, and forgets all about it once she starts kissing him again.

"Some of the time," Melinda finishes.

He chuckles into her neck, then starts kissing his way down her chest. He's too reverent, too gentle, and if she wasn't bare to the bone, she'd flip him over, insist they do things her way. She usually likes sex quick and hard, mindless, for the pleasure of it. She was that way before Andrew and went that way again. Sex was all about release, as emotional as sparring in the gym. She preferred not to care.

With Phil, there was no chance of that. She loved him, held him in her heart in a place of beauty. Kissing him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he slipped off his pants, that was simply the next step. Connecting their bodies was an afterthought, no more intimate than their conversations, then the words they held back.

Neither of them whispered affection, nor whispered more than _"there, yes, more..."_ her own gasping, begging him to slip deeper, making him hold her hands back against the mattress as he rests on his forearms. Staring into his eyes, she forgets about orgasm, leaves behind the spinning of her head and how afraid she is of what comes next.

Of moving forward.

Of that unshakable vulnerability.

He slips within her, kisses her neck. His pulse thuds against her chest and he waits, hot, hotter within her.

Teasing- no- this is softer.

His fingers slip over her, reminding her body how this ends. It rushes, hot and commanding, and then she's still, breathing forgotten when she arches up, hips against his.

Their sweat makes their skin soft.

Not slick, they were too gentle. Kissing him as she leaves the bed, she uses the bathroom naked and returns, stretching while he smiles up at her.

"Least we don't have to worry about birth control."

She has nothing to throw at him, but pushes him back, holding him beneath her on the bed.

"I thought that might be how the world ended."

"You and me?"

"It seemed like the only thing we hadn't tried to bring on the apocalypse."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May doesn't tolerate hormone shots well, Phil and Daisy fuss and they talk about undercover. (descriptions of vomiting)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this remains total fluff, and I love it, thanks for reading!

She's up twice in the middle of the night, and though she curls close to him, she's sweaty, not cold. The list of side effects to the meds was long, and sometimes Melinda doesn't take to things. She can never sleep on antimalarials.

He strokes his hand through her hair when she returns to bed, pulls her close and their skin sticks together. "What's wrong?"

"Can't sleep."

"It's okay, no one needs us for anything tomorrow."

Melinda's barely had a week off in the last few years, and unless he counts being dead, he’s had just as little vacation. SHIELD hasall but collapsed, the people running the show are not friendly to Phil or his team. Ireland's as good a place to hide as any. Maybe Australia next, or South Africa, plenty of places to blend in.

"I hate being useless."

"Resting and recuperating after what you've been through is very useful."

"I'm fine."

He kisses her forehead, tracing his fingers down her back. "You're warm."

"It's the meds."

"Anything else off?"

She curls closer, her forehead against his chest. "Stomach's off."

"It's not my cooking."

"No." She tilts her head and he kisses her forehead. This is easy, warm and comfortable. "Last time I threw up was with you."

"I remember." He trails his fingers through her hair, calming her, calming himself as her breathing slows. "Ukraine. You had food poisoning so bad I thought we'd have to scrub the mission." She couldn't stop throwing up and he carried her into the emergency room, floundering in his terrible Russian, playing the lost tourist with a sick wife.

"You slept in the bed with me."

"You got so dehydrated you couldn't lift your head up."

"You stayed in character well."

"It was always so easy with you." He slips her legs into his, winding them together.

She chuckles, half asleep, but not enough to leave him alone. "You always froze when we got to that one thing married people do.”

"Not tonight."

Melinda moves beside him, searching for his eyes. She touches his cheek, stroking her fingers across his stubble. "You were perfect."

Kissing her fingers, he holds her hand close to his chest. "I'm glad it was us, not a mission."

Nodding, she shuts her eyes. "If I throw up, it's no reflection on you, or tonight."

"Oh, I know, don't worry."

* * *

 

Right before dawn, she leaves the bed, hurrying across the floor. He drags himself after, still yawning while she drops to her knees and empties her stomach. He sits beside her, keeping her hair out of the way, whispering useless things about how she's all right. She tolerates that, and his attempts to help her rinse out her mouth.

The tile's cold beneath them, but she doesn't mind. Her head's in his lap, and part of him hopes she'll fall asleep again, let some of this pass.

"You guys awake? Ready for breakfast? If you’re naked please say something now before I—"

"We're here, Daisy," he calls back, almost impressed she'd just walk into the bedroom.

"Everything okay? You guys fixing the plumbing or something?" She holds her hand up, almost as if she's ready to cover her eyes, but drops that humor when she sees them. "What's wrong?"

"Hormone shots." He strokes her hair again, wiping sweat aside with his thumb. "Got to her stomach."

Daisy's eyes flick to the shirt May's wearing, his shirt, and she smirks. "Can I do anything? You want toast? There's some crackers in the kitchen."

Melinda whimpers, waking slowly. For a moment, it seems might be over, but she groans and he helps her up, steadying her shoulders when she starts retching again. It's mostly water now, and they'll have to find something she can keep down.

"Shit." Daisy sinks down, joining him on the floor. She reaches out, her hand hovering over May's shoulder.

"You might need to run into town, more crackers, electrolytes."

"I can do that."

"I'm fine." Only May would insist on that while leaning against his chest, waiting to throw up again.

"Like hell you are."

"The doctor warned us, it's probably just the first day or two until she has some time to adjust. She never takes meds well anyway."

"Oh?" Daisy latches onto that, taking the little plastic cup and filling it with water and passing it down to him. "Is that so?"

"I take them," Melinda protests, taking a sip, and immediately spitting it into the toilet. "They don't sit well."

"Kind of a running thing."

"I see." Daisy leans against the door, knees up by her chest. "You hold her hair back a lot?"

"This is only the third or fourth time."

"Ukraine, that time in the Caribbean, my bachelorette party--"

"Wait, you went to her bachelorette party?"

Melinda manages to laugh, falling back against him, letting him take her weight. He wraps his arms around her waist, holding her close. He could sit here forever.

"He planned it."

"You've never been that drunk."

"Nor will I be again."

"Tell me about it," Daisy asks, getting comfortable. "Where did you go? What did you drink? Was it a strip club?"

"You think I'd take May to a strip club?" Phil feigns indignance and holds up the cup again. "It was a penthouse we confiscated in an op, great views of the city, great liquor cabinet that we liberated from some Triad gangsters."

"What was that drink you kept making?" May taps his shoulder, drawing his attention. She holds the water on her own, but remains in his arms. Considering the circumstances, it's pretty damn nice.

"With the brandy?"

"With the champagne."

He searches his memory, but it's been years and he was pretty distracted by how beautiful she was. How happy.

"So you got her wasted on champagne cocktails? That can be a heck of a hangover."

"Oh it was," May says, shutting her eyes. "Phil and I had to walk to the courthouse."

"You can't throw up in Lola, not then, not now."

"He parked like a mile away."

"Walking helped get you over the nausea."

"Uh-huh." Melinda sips her water, holding the cup with both hands, and this time, she swallows. "You just care more about that car."

He kisses her head, and Daisy watches him, eyes wide. She's quick, insightful enough to know what's going on. Her eyes lingered on Melinda's chest again, his shirt. Her hair's a mess and he didn't leave marks on her neck. There's no sign, nothing that says their relationship has changed, but Daisy sees things. She always has.

"So, I'm going to run to the store and get some stuff, and then I'll make breakfast for me and Coulson, and you can have toast." She pats Melinda's knee. "Feel better."

"Thanks."

She turns in his arms when Daisy's gone, resting her forehead against his cheek. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Being with you? Yes, I'll admit it would be nicer if you weren't turning your stomach inside out, but...I'll take what we can get. No one's shot at me for two weeks."

She laughs a little, getting comfortable in his arms. "What if it's just like this? Weeks of this, and I can't do anything and you're all distracted--"

"Then Mack can run SHIELD, and we'll take some time off. Consult from the bathroom, whatever it takes."

Exhaling slowly, she rests her hand over his chest. "You mean that."

"Absolutely."

"And you do that so easily."

"It's you, Melinda. I love you."   

She kisses his cheek, all soft. "And?"

"And it's so hard to believe I'd want a family too?"

That makes her turn; meet his eyes. "You do?"

"I love kids."

"There's a big difference when it's our kid we have to leave somewhere safe so we can save the world."

"We'll make it work."

"How can you say that? How can you know that?"

He laughs, and smiles at his hand. "We've both come back from the dead, I've lost a hand, we've been to space, to the future, and we're here, together, and we have a chance to have a child. Let's take it."

"Phil..."

"You know, I didn't even think about it. I had a job to do, I had to save the world, and I love doing that, but if I can have a child, with you, then I want that."

She blinks, not even trying not to cry. "We don't know it'll work."

"We've had worse odds."

She kisses his cheek, her tears hot against his face, and he shifts her on his lap, then picks her up. She gives him a look that says everything from how ridiculous he is to how much she loves that about him, and she leans in, letting him do the silly thing and carry her to the couch.

He has the kettle on for tea and toast going when Daisy comes back.

"I didn't really know what kind to get, but start with the lemon one, it's probably the easiest. I got ginger ale too, and pretzels, in case you're sick of crackers." The white plastic bag sits on the coffee table, full of food, and she smiles and hands over her euros. “I’m still not used to these. Keep forgetting the change is worth anything.”

"Thank you, Daisy."  May smiles at her, really smiles, and he's so proud of them, of what they are to each other now.

"Hey, throwing up sucks." Daisy retreats to the kitchen. "I'm making eggs and toast, you can have both but maybe start with toast."

He opens one of the drinks and passes it to Melinda. "You should listen to her."

"Are you both going to fuss in tandem?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much the plan."

She makes a face, ready to protest, but rests her head on his shoulder instead. "Fine."

"You like it."

"Maybe a little."

Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he pulls her in, listening to Daisy hum to herself in the kitchen while she cooks.

Daisy worries about breakfast and argues with her podcast, then wonders when and what they'll have for lunch, and then spends the morning designing a secure comlink so they can talk to the rest of the team. May didn't sleep much, or well, and she curls up with him on the sofa while he reads. He reads aloud to her for awhile, and once she's asleep, he wanders through the rambling prose of _Ulysses_ , making slow progress.

Lunch goes much better than breakfast so they take a walk. Hiking is too ambitious a descriptor, but they head their way along the green coast, past the sheep. Daisy reads them Mack's brief update and Jemma's meticulous report of all the goings on of the world, while they sit on a rocks, looking out at the sea.

Joyce would call it snot green, but it’s far too beautiful for that kind of description.

The last two lines of Jemma’s email promise that she and Fitz are happy and safe.

"Probably barely got out of bed,” May mutters.

Daisy raises her eyebrows and nods. “I think they needed some alone time.”

Mack and Elena are probably similarly engaged, so he’s again relieved that Daisy’s with them, rather than running alone somewhere. Two weeks until they need to be at the central clinic in Sweden, provided everything works, and the eggs divide, and keep dividing. It’s strange to think about, somewhere over that sea, someone’s already started mixing their DNA together, trying to convince it to make another person.

“We need to be in Sweden in two weeks, so I was thinking, we take a ferry to the UK, then another one to Sweden, it’ll be slower, but security’s minimal and they’re full of tourists this time of year, we’ll just blend in with the fake passports we have.”

“You want to take a slow boat to Sweden?”

“First England,” May corrects her. “Then we’ll take a train, unless Phil wants to drive on the left.”

“I can do that just fine.”

“I think the train is easier.”

Daisy looks down at her hands, “You don’t think, I should like, give you some time alone?”

“And go where?” May asks with one of her mom faces. “Without backup?”

“I can—“

“You don’t have to,” Phil finishes before Daisy can protest any more. “You’d be fine, but a family on vacation attracts less attention than someone traveling alone.”

“Well you two have the husband and wife thing down.”

“Lots of practice,” May says, rolling her eyes. “Fury sent us together every chance he had.”

“He said we were very convincing.”

“You are!” Daisy shakes her head. “Like, super convincing. I bet you even have all the backstories. Where did you meet?”

May laughs, even blushes a little and the look on Daisy’s face is priceless. May hates undercover, yet she’s so good at it. It’s scary.  

“We met in college, he kept borrowing my chemistry notes.”

He knows how this one goes, and smiles at her, both dopey and smitten. “Her notes were meticulous, better than the study guides.”

“He used to pretend he didn’t know what he was doing, that he couldn’t tell a synthesis reaction from an ionic bonding.”

“Still can’t.”

She picks up his hand, wrapping it in hers. Lifting it up to kiss the back of his hand, she smiles like they’ve been selected by documentary filmmakers. “When the semester was done, he wanted to cook me dinner.”

“Luckily, that kind of chemistry I can do.”

“He made this divine beef stew, right out of Julia Child.”

“Oh?” Daisy turns her head from May to him. “Julia Child, really?”

“It was my mother’s favorite cookbook.” That is based in truth, but that makes all covers easier when there’s a little reality in there.

“And then I was hooked.”

“On my cooking, not me in particular.”

“Hush,” May teases, holding his chin before she pulls him closer, eyes shining. This part always destroys him: the way she can look at him with absolute affection. He believes they’ve been in love for decades, that they met the way they’re saying, because it’s in her eyes. “I liked you more than your cooking.”

She kisses him, playful and warm.

Daisy claps, slow and awed. “Seriously, that’s creepy.”

“It’s a skill,” May says, her voice her own again. “You practice and it gets easier.”

“Sometimes too easy,” he admits, wrapping his arm around May’s back. “You do that thing with your eyes and I believe you love me.”

“I do love you.” That is only truth, no hint of a cover.

Daisy stares, her mouth slightly open, and Phil can’t make himself swallow.

He should do something more than stare at the sea, or look at Melinda’s hand in his like an idiot. He kisses her cheek, nuzzling her before he whispers it back.

She squeezes his fingers. “We’ll come up with it together, Daisy. Where you went to school, what your favorite foods were growing up. It’s pretty easy when you get the hang of it.”

“And we’ll just what, keep traveling until things calm down?”

“Eventually, everything calms down. General Talbot will recover, General Hale will realize SHIELD is not the enemy, and we’ll get taken off the most wanted list.”

Picking up a little rock, Daisy tosses it into the sea, following it down with her eyes. “That could take months.”

“Then it takes months.”

Melinda pulls his arm a little closer and rests her head on his shoulder. Her smile lags a little, and her headache must be back.

“Think of it as practice undercover, or a vacation, whatever makes it more fun.”

“Fun?”

“Traveling with your parents, what could be more fun?” He teases, reaching around Melinda to pat Daisy’s shoulder.

“Right.”

Melinda smiles, one of her more wicked ones, and she toys with Daisy's hair. (Just like a mom). “See, you’ve got it already.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They take the ferry over to Scotland and May and Coulson are so married, it's not even cover. Daisy and May talk about what it means to be a parent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to imaginationallcompact for fixing my words.

After much debate about train and ferry timetables, they take the train to Belfast and then catch a boat across to Cairnryan, which is the most Scottish name Daisy's heard yet and she can't wait to text Fitz all the pictures she takes of ridiculously Scottish things. 

Even if May will probably throw up haggis and deep fried Mars bars (which sound amazing and terrible and she's still not sure if a Mars bar is the same as a Milky Way and ketchup potato chips are weird). 

Good weird, but weird. Kind of like calling May and Coulson mom and dad because it's the most dull thing to be. Family vacation in Ireland and the UK. Taking the slow boat to Sweden, via Scotland, France and Germany. Ferries and trains and maybe a rental (hired, they say hired) car. They could just fly but they need time to pass before they get to Sweden but...their database was really easy to hack and it's so much less secure than air travel. It's almost too easy. 

There is something kind of soothing about it. They have very little for luggage, and they've just left the bedraggled Lighthouse and the fucking Kree, and everything here is soft and new and comfortable and she's all set with SHIELD tech for wifi and her laptop and a whole mess of coding projects she just hasn't found time to do yet, with the Framework and Space and it's actually nice to sit down, let Coulson buy her coffee (he's such a dad) and work.

Coulson has his book to read, and he's making progress enough that he'll have to pick something else long and ponderous by the time they're sailing from Germany. 

May reads sometimes and sometimes Phil reads to her, but she doesn't have things unread and projects she's been putting off like they do. Maybe it's part of the zen thing, or maybe you don't just sit down and read technical manuals for Fitz's latest Zephyr upgrade on vacation. It's that or her head hurts more than she admits or she really likes just watching the water. 

No one's really around where they get set up near the bow and May curls up into Coulson's chest , his arm around her shoulders and they're her parents and they've been married since right after college and she loves them. Making them be Steve and Margaret made Coulson smile and May laughed, actually laughed before deciding that he could call her Peggy if he wanted.

Or Maggie, which sounds a lot like May, so it's easy in the case of slip ups. Though, Coulson doesn't usually make mistakes and literally no one is as dedicated to being undercover as May. The wallpaper on her phone is the college they met at and she's been so touchy since they officially took the mom and dad cover. Like, she reaches for Daisy's hand across the table in the cafe and squeezes it. Touches her shoulder, her back. Not that May hasn't fixed her form like a billion times in tai chi or taught her how to hold a big gun steady or how to bandage something, but this is checking in. This is ‘hey sweetheart, I love you’, a couple times a day and it's weird.

Warm.

Comforting. 

And Coulson's dad is ‘here, take this money to get tea, pick the restaurant. You did a great job on the train tickets and the ferry tickets’ and sure, she's spent tons of her life on the move, sleeping in a van, but they've had apartments. Do they hate the idea of sleeping on trains and ferries and slowly moving across Europe when they could be more efficient.  Has she stuck them in some kind of hell? 

They'd say something though. They would, and maybe, weirdly, they like this too. Maybe they're both still a little shell shocked about the impending parents thing and not thinking is easier. And whatever May's on is some special kind of hell. She's good, she's stoic, she's fucking Melinda May, but even Daisy can tell when she's getting progressively more sick to her stomach. And of course they're in the never ending line-queue-thing (Jemma would call it a queue) and it's moving really slowly because the ferry was full of tourists and there's some weird EU not EU thing where they have to answer more questions. 

And then May's just gone and Coulson looks at her sympathetically for a moment before he hands her the bags and their fake passports in a stack and walks into the women's bathroom that Daisy totally missed May disappearing into.

So she stands there, finds her best confused American expression and really charming smile and just waits for the nice security guard who is going to have a great accent (she REALLY does) come ask her why she's not moving along with the queue and just standing out of it by the bathroom like an idiot. 

"My parents are in there. My mom wasn't feeling well."

"All right, stay here." 

Which is how they get into Scotland with barely more than a glance at their passports. May's not faking, she's pale as fuck and sweaty when she comes out of the bathroom with Phili's arm around her and they sit on a bench while the security guard brings them a bottle of water and takes the passports from Daisy, checks that they are indeed the people who look like these passports and hand them back. 

No scan. No electronic record. Just somewhat hapless American tourists. Coulson, because he's like that, even has a recommendation for a bed and breakfast in the middle of nowhere because they're in some tiny village attached to a port that's really just houses and a Tesco on some rocks.

"I forget you can do that."

"What?" 

"Be absolutely helpless when you're completely in control of how helpless you are." 

"Maybe I just didn't realize I get motion sick." May puts her head in Coulson's lap as soon as he sits down and he laughs, playing with her hair. She can pull more Gs than anyone and dislocate her own wrist but gets motion sick on a boat so big it barely rocks. 

She stares at them for way longer than she should, because they're top secret agents, probably some of the best in the world, not her middle aged parents on a European vacation, but she could believe it. The lies are based on little truths after all, and she's not entirely sure what the security guard saw in the bathroom but it must have been cute because she had that smile. The one Daisy keeps getting. 

She ducks into the bedroom to drop off their clothes and realizes she should probably do the laundry. Who knows when they'll have a good washer that's not in Swedish. Neither of them will care, right? They've done her laundry often enough. She dumps all of it in together, checking that their socks aren't bunched up or something weird. 

She only smirks a little at Phil's Captain America boxers because that feels like a gift. Did May get them? Does he wear them because they make her smile? He fucking loves Captain America so maybe he had them before, but she likes May giving them to them. She likes them being domestic. Which is good, because they're really domestic. Pouring in soap, she touches a few settings and starts it up. With her laptop, she heads into the kitchen. No one else is staying in the guest house, it's the middle of the week and kind of the offseason judging by the cold grey sky. Unless it's always like that in Scotland. 

She sends Fitz a picture of the grey sky over the slate roofs and asks if Scotland always looks like this. He might not respond for awhile but she likes being able to send him messages. Jemma usually responds quicker but they're not going to be close to her home. Too far south. 

She double checks their route, wondering if they should keep finding the little places that they can book in cash or use the credit cards and emails set up with their cover to book things. Depends on how hard anyone is looking for them. If anyone's looking for them. She buries herself in four different mirrors and a VPN before checking any of the sites of people who might be looking for them. 

And yeah, she's still a traitor, May, Coulson, Fitz, Simmons, Mack and Elena are all sought for questioning. So...that's heavy on the back channels, but light on actually looking for her. That's good. That's really good. 

She finishes her first cup of instant coffee, and heads back to dump most of their clothes in the dryer. She hangs up the other stuff. Of course May only has standard issue SHIELD bras and those are tough as nails, but it's good to hang them up.  Gives her something to do anyway. Maybe they should get more civilian-looking clothes. Ask Jemma where her parents shop and look a little more like tourists instead of paramilitary commandos. and her second's gone cold when someone touches her shoulder. 

Daisy pulls out her headphones and turns, startled.

"Sorry." May pulls her hand back, smiling a little. She looks better, less pale,, but the circles under her eyes are dark today. It would be a lot more fun to tease her about Coulson than whatever her meds are doing to her. 

"You feeling better?" 

"Yes, thank you."

Daisy finishes her cold coffee and grimaces. It was moderately drinkable warm. Cold, it's gritty. "You know, you don't have to lie." 

"I do feel better." 

"Right. You're not going to throw up right this second, so better." 

May chuckles, leaning against the table. "Exactly."

"Where's Coulson?"

"Dinner. He likes wandering around and he'll come back with food."

"Doing recon."

"Oh no, he wanders." May crosses her arms over her chest. "Don't let him fool you. He gets protective on missions, likes to know where everything is, just in case."

"And gets in trouble?"

"More times than he'll admit." She winces a little and takes the chair. 

"Can I do anything?"

She rests her head in her hands, but she still smiles. Daisy's not sure she could smile if she felt that bad. "If you're getting more coffee--"

"I can make tea. I'm getting pretty good at this kettle thing. Maybe there's even some good stuff." Daisy digs through the little box and holds up both of the green ones. "Green or peppermint? The rest is all English breakfast and that's not your favorite."

"It's not Scottish?"

"No, not in this box, I'll ask Fitz." 

He'll wake up with like eight messages but he's funny when he's exasperated. 

"Are you sending him a picture of tea bags?"

"I got our phones set up so they're untraceable, and they're lying low in some gorgeous resort in Hawaii so they might as well spend some time talking to us." 

"When they drag themselves out of bed."

"Whenever that is." 

Daisy sets tea down in front of her. "They're happy."

"It's about time." 

"Uh..."

May wraps her fingers around her mug, watching her. "I don't have a right to say that?" 

"You're worse. You and Coulson are like, way worse."

"We've known each other longer, more baggage. More risk of losing something you don't think you can live without." 

And she just says that, easily, calmly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. 

"How would you lose him? He's--" she pauses because she doesn't quite know how to say it.  "He's Coulson, and you're always together. Even when you were mad at him."

"I wasn't mad at him."

"You have been."

"Not lately." May blows across her tea and stares at her hands before looking back up at Daisy. "We've disagreed. We've been together long enough for some of them to be pretty severe, but I've always had him. When I was the most gone, I had him, because he didn't care if I couldn't talk. He'd make stupid jokes when I had nothing to say. I didn't destroy him the way I destroyed Andrew."

"You didn't--"

"Oh I did." She sips her tea even though it has to be too hot. "You know, we had been married a couple years, we were happy, like ridiculously happy. His work was going well, my job at SHIELD was great. We were trying to have a baby."

Daisy reaches across the table too quickly to stop herself, squeezing May's hand. "Coulson told me."

"And I killed that girl."

"You had too."

"But that was it. I had to kill her. I was willing to sacrifice a child for the greater good." May squeezes her fingers back so tightly that they could break. "How could I be a mom after that? How could I trust myself?"

"I have no idea." Daisy wants to reach over the table and just hug her tight, but that's not... "I trust you, and everyone in my life before SHIELD was kinda shitty, and my real mom tried to kill me. Coulson trusts you. Coulson would believe you could walk on water if you needed to. Hell, you probably could if he asked you to. Some kind of zen thing, or you stare at the water until it's afraid to let you sink." 

May releases her grip but keeps Daisy's hand, toying with her fingers. It's fidgety and gentle and so not her that it makes Daisy's eyes sting. "Am I that terrifying?" 

"Yeah." 

That was the wrong thing to say, because May's face crumples. She leans forward on her arms and she's so small and so tired. 

"I mean--"

"It's alright, Daisy. I get it. My mom is pretty terrifying too." 

"She is?"

"She's strict. I had a seven-thirty curfew until I was eighteen." May's face is completely still. It could be true. Daisy could totally believe it was true. 

"You're making that up."

"Maybe."

"You're just seeing if I'll-'

"Uh-huh."

"And you're making the face."

"This face?" 

"Yes, that face exactly. That's a scary face." It's not at all. It's a beautiful face because it's May's and she's full of so much care and affection. She'll be such a good mom. She's patient and she likes teaching things. She's the closest thing to a mom Daisy's had, and she's so good at it. 

"Maybe moms should be a little scary."

"You'll be great." 

May blinks, then looks down and Daisy is in no way prepared for her to look at her with her heart naked in her eyes. "You think so. Phil thinks so. I can't see it. I'm going through the motions with this, dragging myself through these meds but I don't know where it's going."

"That's okay." Daisy leaves her chair and fuck it, now she's going to hug her because she really can't handle watching May cry. May needs it. She hugs her back tight and they're both sitting there like idiots, wrapped in each other. "You're going to be a great mom. You are a great mom. You're what I wish my mom was like."

"Daisy."

"Seriously. You're who I want to be like. I don't think I can make all the faces or be scary but if I ever have kids. I want to be like you so my kids will be safe, and know they're loved every day."

May touches her face, turning her head so they look at each other. Tears run down her face and it's the scariest face Daisy ever seen her make. It's so honest. Open. "You are loved."

"I know!" She's crying harder and unlike May she probably looks like an idiot because she can't cry stoic and pretty. "I know, like I really get it.  You and Coulson love me. You want the best for me. You want me to be a better person and be safe and you have no idea what that means to me."

Brushing her tears away, May nods holding eye contact as Daisy's heart melts into something molten and gooey. "Yes, we do. We know what it's like to be alone." 

"And we're not now, none of us, and I know you think it might not be okay to have a baby, but...maybe that's what makes it okay. You're not alone. You've got Coulson and me, Jemma, Fitz, Mack and Yo-Yo, and you know how cute Jemma and Fitz would be with a baby and Mack has the memories of raising Hope and--"

"Daisy."

She could keep rambling, but May holds her steady. 

"Thank you." May smiles so shyly and fuck, how does Coulson look at her and not melt every time?  "I would be so proud if my child was anything like you."

"Are you kidding?"

"Whoever they might be, I know who I'd like them to be like." 

"You mean Coulson, Jemma, Fitz, Mack- Mack is the sweetest- and Yo-Yo's so brave and--"

"And you, Daisy." 

Coulson clears his throat in the doorway, startling them both. He walks over to the table and sets down a white plastic bag. "Brought dinner. Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

May looks up at him and he leans down to kiss her cheek, brushing her tears away with the sappiest smile. "I was just telling Daisy how much we'd love to have a child like her." 

"We'd be honored." 

Daisy rubs her eyes and shakes her head, retreating so they can be them and she can try to find a way to stop crying. Think about food. Maybe Coulson got something spicy because he's always so funny with how hot he thinks he can eat things. 

"Thanks." She stands awkwardly behind her chair and then Coulson grabs her and hugs her just as tight as May did. He's less wet, but give him time. It seems to be that kind of day. 

"You're extraordinary, Daisy. I hope you know that."

Knowledge and belief are really different things, and Coulson smells like leather and fog, but he's just as safe as May is. 

"And I got Cantonese. I think. Things stir fried with other things."

"Don't let him fool you, he can cook Cantonese well enough to please my mother. I can't even do that."

"You could if you tried."

"Why should I try when I can bring you home and you can impress her on my behalf?" 

They tease each other, flirting gently, and while Daisy gets plates from the cupboard they kiss, lingering. He brushes tears off her face and kisses her cheek, fussing over her tea and the way she's gone pale again. Being pregnant's gotta be less bad than whatever meds she's on. It has to work. She doesn't even understand enough of the biology Jemma's been trying to explain, what the chances are. It just has to work. They're already her parents, they should get to start with a little one. 

It'll be one fucking lucky kid. 

"Here, I got more beer." Coulson hands her a bottle and using his robot hand to flip off the caps of both of them. "Maybe it'll help with the emotions." He takes a sip and smirks at May. "I know you can't stop talking about them." 

May slips into his arms and steals his beer, taking a sip. They share a look that might as well be 'drink now before we hit Sweden' and it's so real for a second. Next week they'll be at that clinic up in the mountains and they'll go into a room and May will come out pregnant. Daisy has to remember herself that it's a ball of cells and it might not work and they're still some of the most wanted people in the world. 

But she doesn't care about that. They don't care about that. Coulson mock-fights with May for his beer back and ends up with her in his arms and he turns, one hand on her back and it's dancing.  Kitchen dancing. That stupid, ridiculous parent thing that parents in the movies do and no real people do.

But it works for them. 

May hates dancing but she loves Coulson. Really loves him.  She slips away, smiling. "If you have to dance, dance with Daisy, I'm hungry." 

Coulson extends his hand, making peace with losing his beer and he pulls Daisy in, turning slowly to some song that's only in his head. He's not crying, but dancing is surely a display of emotion on parr with crying. "I used to stand on my mom's feet when I was little. We'd dance in the kitchen and listen to the radio."

"Seriously?"

"It was great." He slows, then hugs her again. "This will be great too."

There's belief again, shining like a beacon. He always does that, to her, to May...and they love him. Baby Agent's going to be so loved. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FitzSimmons manage to meet them in Sweden but Jemma's parents need to be protected from knowing who they really are, which means more undercover and a red dress Daisy loves and May really hasn't cried in front of people in years, but everything is changing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to imaginationallcompact, crazymaryt, holdouttrout and ericine because I need my hand held.

After the build up, all the worry, the twisting in her stomach she can't calm, the cold sweat on her hands, it's over very quickly.

"Lie still for ten minutes." Their doctor pats her shoulder, pulls up the sheet over her legs and then touches Phil's arm. "I'll turn down the lights. Just rest for awhile, take some slow breaths and take it easy today when you leave."

Melinda stares at the ceiling, but her vision swims. Phil kisses her forehead, brushing her hair and she moves to the side, making room because she can't lie there without him.

"Phil."

"It's all right." He climbs up on the exam table, lies on his side next to her. It's a beautiful little room, all minimalist and soft tones, with warm sunlight from the world outside and white wood. It's terrifying but he nuzzles her cheek. "It's all right."

It is not, in any way, all right. The embryo, their potential child, stopped being a ghost in a petri dish and lies within her now. Maybe it'll take hold, cling to the uterine lining her miserable hormones have built up. If that's any reflection of how sick she's been, everything should be fine. Phil joked about that with the doctor who smiled and reminded them that it's different for each woman. Each time.

He strokes her face, then rests his hand on her heart.

"Breathe."

She can force her breath to slow through practice, through sheer force of will, but her hands are only still if she rests them on his arm and nothing dries the cold sweat on her spine.

"Everything's going to be fine."

They don't talk about the other embryo they didn't implant in case this goes south. Two at once seemed too risky, and they can always donate it or...

He rubs his thumb back and forth over her traitorous heart, rests his forehead against her cheek, and they wait, staring out the window at the the scrappy trees and the very green hills.

She thought she'd be here with Andrew, that maybe if the trying didn't work, if she'd put her body through too much for SHIELD, maybe they'd end up here, using the eggs she froze before she even met him.

"We talked about what we'd do, if something was wrong. If one of us- we could adopt, Andrew was a civilian, perfect life. SHIELD could explain away all of my sensitive missions with good cover stories, we'd have a chance. I didn't mind using a donor, and Andrew said--"

Phil kisses her cheek, warm and patient. "He thought you'd be a great mom. It was one of the things he regretted most about how you ended things."

She aches for Andrew, and the children they never had, and her chest tightens further until it’s cold metal. She's almost grateful she's only here now. She wasn't ready. After Bahrain, she was never going to be ready. She’s a killer, that has to be incompatible with parenting.

Yet she’s here, with him, full of optimism and hormones. Maybe this is finally letting the girl go. Her eyes sting, then burn, and Phil hovers over her, then strokes her tears away.

Melinda stares at him, concentrating on his face because he makes sense. "I didn't know you talked about it."

"We weren't friends, not really, but sometimes he needed someone who understood." Andrew had other friends, family, but none of them would have known the truth. None of them could hear what he needed to say.

"You're good at that. You're both good at that." Must make it easier to love her. She gets so closed off, retreats so far into herself that it's hard to find her way back. Andrew understood. He was patient. She went to all the sessions after Bahrain. Sat through all the therapy SHIELD wanted, saw the people Andrew recommended, but even when she sat there, week after week, it didn't get any better. She didn't get better.

But that's not this. This is a chance. This has nothing to do with that little girl. This could be a little boy who laughs like Phil does or a little girl who smiles like her father.

"You always come back," he whispers, kissing her cheek again. "When you're ready."

"This took me ten years." She turns her head towards him, meeting his eyes. "I'm still not ready."

"No one feels like they're ready. You've already had three kids, this will just be starting when they're cute and portable." Phil toys with her hair, running his fingers through it. "And you'll have me, not that I know anything about babies, but I assume we can study. Take a couple classes."

"In Swedish?"

"In Mandarin if you want, Sanskrit, we'll get there."

"Always the optimist."

"I like to have hope. It's comfortable."

"Have it for me, would you?"

"For both of us." His hand slides downward, resting on her stomach and the frigid, painful knot in her chest melts into something far more dangerous. She stares at him because she can’t look down, can’t acknowledge anything that’s happening.

Phil can be optimistic. He can hope. She can only endure until her heart catches up.

* * *

 

An eternity later, they return to their apartment and Daisy's in the living room with her laptop and junk food.

"Look! Swedish Fish, in Sweden. It's kind of awesome." She holds up a plastic bag marked _Bilar_ with red candy inside. "How'd it go? Everything okay?"

"She really had to pee," Phil jokes, taking Melinda's jacket. He lingers, rubbing her back. "That part was pretty uncomfortable."

She'd almost forgotten that, and it is funny and makes Daisy laugh instead of looking so worried. "They make you wait, and then wait, and then it was just done. Kind of anti-climatic, really."

Her eyes are still red and Phil's are puffy, and Daisy must have caught that. She pulls herself up out of her chair, studies them both and nods. "Okay, so I've been working with Fitz, trying to make sure our phones are totally untraceable by the government or former SHIELD gone evil or really anyone who's trying to find us that we don't want. And uh, weird coincidence, but FitzSimmons and her parents are in Stockholm, doing a kind of honeymoon slash meet the parents kind of thing."

"Stockholm's only a few hours away," Phil takes one of the candies and pops it in his mouth, rubbing Daisy’s shoulder and smiling. It’s all right. They’d love to see Fitz and Simmons too. "Could be a nice train ride."  He looks at Melinda, following her to the sofa. He hovers for a moment, then smiles when she raises her eyebrows. "I'll make tea, see about lunch."

That'll calm him. Let him work out some of his feelings. Hers will have to wait, swirling her stomach like the North Sea because she can't make them settle. "It would be nice to see Fitz and Simmons, I can't believe they're all the way over here."

"I might have mentioned we were going to be in Sweden for a couple weeks and they--"

"Changed their plans to meet us. Apparently Jemma's mom really likes Scandinavian cruises anyway, going through Jutland is really pretty. We should think about it, when we travel next." Daisy grabs her tablet and walks to the sofa, sitting down next to her. "See? It's all historic, Coulson loves that stuff and it'll give him reading time. Maybe he'll actually finish the damn book."

"Daisy, I'm fine."

"You don't look fine, you look _really_ not fine, and I don't know how to deal with that and talking makes me feel better." Daisy's concern is the most precious thing.

Melinda squeezes her wrist and sits back, shutting her eyes. "Then tell me about Jutland, or the ferry, or tell me about how you coded our phones."

"Seriously?"

"If you need to talk, talk. I don't mind." Opening her eyes, Melinda takes the tablet and sets it aside so she can hold Daisy's hand properly. "I don't know if I have anything left, but I like it when you talk about your tech. You enjoy it."

"Specialists are always the best listeners," Phil teases, setting down tea on the dark coffee table. "Never really know what you're talking about, but they can fake it well."

"Like you understand what she does."

"I learned to pretend from you."

"Oh, you did?"

"Your ‘sit beside me and listen’ routine is legendary." He leans down and kisses her, but he tastes like coffee. "Best I've ever seen."

Wincing, she wrinkles her nose and Daisy stares at them.

"What?"

"Coffee, she hates it. Sorry." He strokes her cheek, still smiling. "Didn't sleep much."

"I know." She stares at him, then smiles. "Go make lunch."

"On it." Phil keeps his hand on her neck for a moment, fussing in his way, before he heads back to the kitchen.

"But it went okay?"

"It did." She nods, ready to let it slip away again, but then looks at Daisy, searching her eyes. Daisy wants to know this. She leans close, hands still, waiting. "It's kind of like a pap smear. You take off your pants, they do what they need to do and then you have to lie there for the longest ten minutes of your life and then wait for days. I hate waiting."

Daisy sets the tablet down, then smiles, she keeps her eyes locked on Melinda's. "What did Coulson do?"  

"Lay down next to me when I freaked out."

"You freaked out?"

Melinda picks up her tea, wrapping her hands around it. "I cried, all through that ten minutes, and in the rental car while he went to the pharmacy and picked up one of the worst kinds of medication I've ever taken."

Daisy wants to say something about her crying but stops her about the meds. "More shots?"

"Stickier."

"Stickier?" Daisy looks at her, trying to figure it out.

Melinda sighs and drops her eyes down meaningfully between her legs. "The application is messy, and at a higher dose than the one I was on before--"

"So now you feel even more like shit."

"Different shit." Stronger, more disorienting, feverish shit, but Daisy doesn't need to know that. Melinda rubs the center of her forehead because that weird headache makes her thoughts all foggy. She's not even going to give the dizziness thought because that's going to be hell if it sticks around the whole time she's on this dose. Maybe they should just keep running. She's not going to be able to protect them if anything happens and she's too out of it to be useful.

"I'm sorry." Daisy leans back, shaking her head. "Is it better than nausea? Is that gone now? You've gone like...four days without throwing up, that's good right?"

"You sound like Phil."

Daisy also has the same annoying immunity to Melinda rolling her eyes. "I think that's a good thing. Optimism."

"May doesn't believe in optimism," Phil says, waving them over to the table. “Come eat.”

Daisy waits for her to stand, almost as if she's worried it'll go slow. Protective, like Phil. Melinda's legs work just fine. Maybe not for combat today, but they'll walk over to the table.

"Is that a specialist thing or a May thing?"

"She was jaded going in."

"I was realistic."

"Her mother says she was a _realistic_ child."

They pass salad and sandwiches around. Phil reaches across the table and squeezes her hand, eyes shining. “I’ll be optimistic for all of us.”

Not both. Not just him and her, but Daisy and anyone else who might happen to exist months from now, if she survives this. If she gets lucky enough to have another second chance.

She got him. Isn’t wanting anything else ridiculous? Too much, too greedy. Daisy’s hand joins Phil’s, cool when his is warm, and together they love her enough to make anything seem possible.

* * *

 

On the third day of the wait for her blood tests, Jemma and Fitz message up that they’re ready. Jemma found a lovely sushi place and she’s terribly excited to see them. Her email includes a file with seventeen pages of dossiers. Her parents are civilians and she’s tried to protect them by constructing a more reasonable life.

Her director and specialist have never been named when she speaks of them. Her parents, a university professor in astronomy and a surgeon, think they’re meeting Daisy’s parents, Qiaolian May Johnson and her husband Phil.

Daisy reads them aloud while Phil purchases train tickets and a hotel room with the credit card Daisy obtained for them. She can find things, find people, got ahold of Maria Hill. Daisy has to explain this sitting on the sink in the bathroom while Phil rubs her nec.

Nausea, it seems is not over, and Daisy helps by doing all the things that Melinda can't quite force herself to do. They need clothes, and Daisy takes their new credit card shopping, returning with bags of sweaters, jeans, enough to help them blend in Scandinavia and wherever they go next. She keeps finding them in together in the bathroom, or asleep on the sofa, and at first it seems strange, but Daisy's kind of cute, smiling at them so her eyes go soft.

"Okay, I found you a dress for dinner with Simmons' parents. She picked this fancy sushi place in Stockholm-"

"Daisy-"

"I know, I know, I called, told them that the reservation for seven on Tuesday needed one pregnancy-safe plate. They were really nice about it, even though I don't speak any Swedish, only initially awkward."

Melinda closes her eyes because she's not really pregnant, not yet. They've achieved some kind of miserable approximation and she's too hot and exhausted and everything seems to be happening way too fast around her, like she's been concussed.

"Any better?" Phil hands her a cold washcloth and rubs the back of her neck. "Tell me about the dress."

"I think it should be a surprise, don't you?" She tilts her head towards the living room. "And I got suits for you, several, because I know how much you love them."

"We should have deputized her years ago, I know how much you hate shopping."

"We're pretty close to the same size, so I think it'll fit. You look really good in black anyway."

"Have you seen her in red?"

"No." Daisy hovers in the doorway. "No, I've never seen you wear red. You need anything? There's soda in the fridge, some more sports drink if you can keep that down."

Phil looks at her and she shakes her head before resting her forehead on his shoulder. It's never over when she thinks it should be. Sometimes her stomach's just a mess for the afternoon and nothing happens, sometimes they spend what seems like forever waiting for her stomach to still.

He speaks for her, he always does when she needs him too. "Not yet, thanks."

Sinking down next to Phil, Daisy reaches over and pats her knee. "You going to be okay on the train?"

"It's not motion related." He keeps playing with her hair, running his fingers over her scalp. His cool fingertips help pull her back to reality. "She'll be fine."

"Well, I promise it's a great dress, and the restaurant looks incredible." Daisy stops, guilt making her wince. "I won't talk about food."

"It's all right." She curls into Phil's arm, shutting her eyes. "You can talk."

"Your mom's tired."

"Mom," Daisy repeats, shaking her head. "I'll practice, I'll be good at it by Tuesday."

"Thanks Dad," Phil teases her and Melinda can imagine Daisy rolling her eyes just from the way her voice shifts.

She loves them in that way that's so intense it's painful, but it holds her together. They do.

* * *

 

Down in Stockholm in the grand hotel, Daisy finally gets to show her the dress she's so proud of. It's deep red, and she's right, it's beautiful, tight in all the right places, and expensive.  Phil can't keep his eyes off her when she walks out of the bedroom. He whistles, low and playful and Melinda pulls her hair back over her shoulder.

"Daisy can shop."

"I'll say." Walking closer, he reaches for her hair, playing with it before he kisses her. "I think we should put your hair up."

She rests her forehead against his cheek and sighs. "You do it it."

He kisses her temple. "You're still warm."

"It's all right." She takes a breath, glancing down before she steps away from him. Her sore breasts more than fill out her dress. In fact, it's a little distracting, not just for Phil, because Daisy's eyes go straight to her cleavage.

"Damn."

"Thank you."

"Seriously, I knew you'd fill it out better than me when I tried it on, but, wow."

Phil and Daisy share a look and she rolls her eyes, sitting down on the bed so her head will still.

"I'll do hair if you do makeup."

Daisy looks at him, then points at her chest. "Me?"

"If you want the eyeliner to be straight, it can't be me," Melinda promises, resting her hands in her lap. "I trust you."

Phil grabs the curling iron, the brush, hair spray, and Daisy lays out her makeup on the bed beside her.

"Okay, just hold still and it'll be great. It's not like you need anything to be gorgeous."

Chuckling, Melinda looks right at Phil. He shrugs. "It's true," he pauses, brushing out her hair. "Though you're a little pale.”

"You try the meds I'm on and we'll see who is pale."

"Don't fight, parents."

Phil laughs behind her head.

Daisy eases her eyes closed and starts lining her eyes. "You guys are so married, it's ridiculous."

* * *

 

No more married than Doctor and Doctor Simmons (medicine and astronomy), who shake hands formally and introduce themselves with British restraint while Jemma and Fitz throw themselves into hugs as soon as they're into the restaurant. Fitz lingers, then kisses her cheek. "We've missed you."

Jemma holds her tight, squeezes her hands as they break. "It just hasn't been the same, not seeing you for dinner as often as we do." Her eyes fall down on Melinda's chest, lingering on her cleavage long enough that she almost expects her to comment. Maybe she likes the dress.

Maybe not.

The cover's easy enough to maintain. Qiaolian May Johnson has been married for decades, loves her husband and her daughter and has a simple life. She inherited a computer component company who makes things for SHIELD (Fitz rambles easily about just want her company apparently makes when asked).

Dinner arrives while they're talking about Daisy, about the wedding that happened so quickly after the last mission that Jemma and Fitz can't go into detail about.

Phil promises it was a lovely wedding, very low key and romantic. He plays the gentle account well, answering Jemma's mother's tax questions with the kind of enthusiasm he usually saves for Captain America trivia.

The restaurant serves courses after course, all tiny, beautiful tasting plates with artfully arranged pieces of sushi. Hers are different, of course. Jemma's eyes fall on the first plate where Melinda doesn't have raw fish. Her parents are too polite to comment, but Jemma adds on to her backstory, coming up with some stale about how she picked up a _Diphyllobothrium nihonkaiense_ last year and she's still gun shy.

Jemma's parents apologize for the restaurant and Melinda laughs it off. Her laughing still startles everyone but Phil and he squeezes her hand under the table.

The excuse came to Jemma so quickly that she must have known something was different. Her gaze falls on Melinda more while she speaks to her mother about the incidence of _Diphyllobothrium nihonkaiense_ in the population visiting the Pacific and Fitz and Jemma's father talk about sake and order some scotch.

Fitz orders it for everyone, so he doesn't suspect, and it'll be easy enough to wait for Phil to drink most of his, then switch glasses, they've done that before when she needs to stay sharp.

Between the sixth and seventh course, she retreats to the bathroom, Phil's hand lingering on her back when she stands, making sure she's all right.

"Be right back," she promises, all light and happy. This is nice, dinner with the parents she's heard so much about.

In the artful little bathroom, she hides in the stall, letting her face still and her shoulders fall. The food's incredible but she's not hungry. The company is excellent, and having Jemma and Fitz back is like being home, but her headache creeps through the painkillers she's allowed to have (acetaminophen never did work as well as ibuprofen, but she can't have the latter for months).

It is almost as bad as her last concussion, the way her thoughts seem buried in fog and all she wants to do is sleep.

"May?"

There's Jemma, just as she imagined. Getting to her feet in her heels, she flushes the toilet and meets her by the sink.

"Are you all right?" Jemma begins before she can even ask the question, cover forgotten, pretense melted away. She reaches for her hands and takes them before Melinda has even had a chance to wash them. "Your fingers are swollen, your temperatures elevated and your breasts--"

"Daisy thinks look amazing in this dress." It's a weak little joke but it might be what keeps Jemma from immediately bursting into tears.

"May..."

"I'm fine, it's--"

Neither of them say the word outloud, it's too dangerous, but Jemma hugs her again, this time so tightly that Melinda loses her breath for a moment.

"I'm so happy for you."

"It hasn't even been a week."

"And the hormones are hell, they must be." Jemma touches her chin, looking into her eyes. "But you're so brave."

That doesn't factor into this. This is terrifying, and the only way she's gotten this far is Phil. 

"I have Phil and Daisy."

"Daisy hasn't said anything, I don't want you to think-"

"I don't-"

"Because I really got it from your breasts, which are marvellous usually but they're so...in this dress and I'm just so happy for you, for Coulson, I mean--"

"Thank you."

Jemma leads her to the sink, almost washing her hands for her because she doesn't want to let go. "I'm sorry it's so rough on you. Everyone responds differently to synthetic progesterone and they must have you on a rather high dose of estrogen, and if it's any consolation, when you switch over to only your own hormones, it might be easier."

"If we make it that far."

"I assume you used frozen gametes, if so, your chances are as good as they would be if you were the age when you froze them. It might be rougher on you physically than it would if you were still that age, however, your chances are good. Don't lose hope."

Now her own eyes sting and she can't help praying Daisy used waterproof mascara. "Right."

"I'm so happy for you."

"Jemma..."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, it's just...you must have wanted this for such a long time, since before, and you've waited and I know how good a mom you are, I do and Coulson's going to be such a cute father and I--" Jemma hugs her again, lingering, and then they're both crying and it'll be nearly impossible to explain when they get back.

"Usually I can stop this," she says, shaking her head while Jemma reaches for the paper towels.

"Hormones, I'm afraid." Jemma dabs her eyes and fusses with her eyeliner and she looks like herself again in the mirror before they leave the bathroom.

"Little zipper malfunction," she tells the table.

The way Phil's hand find hers underneath says everything. He knows Jemma figured it out and he's all right with her knowing. He'd want to tell them himself but Jemma's just so quick with anything about bodies and Fitz will probably have it figured out before they get back to the the hotel and in the middle of everything that does unsaid, Jemma's poor unsuspecting parents actually seem to think they can beat Phil to the check.

They bid their goodbyes and kiss cheeks and hug without being awkward on the sidewalk in front of the intimate little restaurant. Jemma's mother whispers that she's knows she's been like a mother to her and she's grateful because she feels so far away.

And she loses all control over her eyes, tearing up as they say goodbye. She promises Jemma is just like her own daughter, because she is, they both are and Fitz, she loves him just like a son and Jemma's parents are in the cab before she's really crying. Fitz hands her a handkerchief and Phil wraps his jacket around her shoulders and they all go home to the fancy hotel Daisy booked with what is certainly a credit card from Pepper Potts. Maria did always have the best connections.

Tonight they get to go home as a family to a block of hotel rooms surrounding a sitting room and a kitchen. Phil knows what he wants. They'll have breakfast tomorrow and Jemma and Fitz can ask all their questions and fuss and she doesn't even mind. They're here. They should be able to find Mac and Elena within a month or two and maybe everything will turn out all right.

When they all get into a car together, she can believe it. Optimism isn't so impossible.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get their test results back, Phil thinks about what it means to be a dad. They accidentally scandalize Fitz a little and talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's fluff in a mass of fluff. Thanks for reading!! Many thanks to imaginationallcompact, holdouttrout and crazymaryt!

The silence is May in the living room, reading, maybe it's time for tai chi, but it's quiet. She doesn't even have the tv on like Daisy would and she's not talking about something like Fitz and Simmons. Sitting in the bath, Phil lowers his head beneath the sweet smelling water and shuts his eyes, listening to his own heartbeat. Lavender is supposed to encourage calm, but he'll never reach that. Not today, perhaps not again for the next thirty-six to thirty-eight weeks, then eighteen years. 

Really, life is just different now, provided they make it through the part where it could all end, and they can stay out of prison.

He rubs shampoo through his hair, smiling at no one. Baby shampoo. Baby towels, a tiny little baby fast asleep on May's chest: all of it's in the future. The very terrifying, incredibly wonderful future. 

Fury would help, if it came that. He's always wanted May to have a life, to be happy somehow after everything she's been through. Maybe they'll end up being refugees on Asgard; as long as they're together, it doesn't matter. They'll still be able to help Daisy run her team from Australia, or China, wherever Melinda wants to move, wherever is safe. Houseboat. Secret base. 

Anything. 

He grins again at no one, at the bubbles around his knees. He knew walking into the clinic that the test would be positive. He's known in the pit of his stomach for days, living beside her. It hasn't been a very auspicious start to a relationship. Melinda's exhausted, nauseated, too hot or too cold, and her head aches more than it doesn't. Yet she's happy, they're happy, there's a growing contentment in his heart that comes from her. 

And a baby.

He washes his face and leans back again, staring up at the skylight over the bath and the clouds above. She's wanted a child for over a decade, probably longer than that. All those men she went through like paper towels weren't father material, Andrew was, and she loved him. 

He'd sat in cars through many stakeouts and listened to Melinda's family planning with Andrew. He'd never been jealous really, the Avengers Initiative was really cool stuff and he wouldn't have wanted...

Then they went to Bahrain, and Melinda's life fell apart. 

He'd watched her pull away from life, from Andrew, from everything, witnessed the joyful idea of a child with two such wonderful parents slipping away. Then her marriage dissolved, and she disappeared in the darkest cave she could find at SHIELD. 

He'd met her for tea the day the papers went through, wanted to keep her from having to sign them alone. There was a part of his life where he wished, desperately, she was single again because he'd missed a chance at something incredible, but not like that. 

Now after everything, all the missions, betrayal, making up, both of their deaths, and all the apologies he still owed her: he had Melinda May in his life. Her and-- the thought tingles, running up his spine. Water sloshes around him. 

Now Phil has to step up. Be a dad. It's a concept he can barely wrap his head around, but he doesn't have to. He can start by getting Melinda through the first trimester, then the second, rubbing her feet and making sure she has what she wants to eat. He can help her embrace running ops, instead of being on them, remind her that she's a great leader because she's so calm. 

Calm.

He chuckles to himself in the bath, then ducks under again. Being in the bath is like being in the womb, warm, dark, safe. Their child's not far enough to even be aware, but she'll get there. It'll be like this, but she'll hear them, and Daisy, Fitz and Simmons. She'll grow up safe. Loved. 

After a certain point, he never thought he'd have a child. Maybe with Audrey, but he'd died and she'd never really wanted-- 

He'd given up the idea, let it go. He had family. Daisy was a daughter, Fitz and Simmons had parents, but they were theirs as much as they were their team. This one though, their baby, would need everything from the very beginning. 

Maybe they'd given enough to the world and the greater good. Perhaps it was okay to focus on a much smaller good for awhile. A tiny good. He grins again, chuckling at himself because he's going to be a dad, and May will be the most incredible mother. 

Reaching for the razor on the floor, he reminds himself that he has things to do before he prunes himself. Save the not shaving until the baby's here and neither of them are sleeping. 

Which should sound horrible but it just sounds fun. 

She knocks, tentative, her knuckles soft against the door. She's probably not going to throw up then. 

"Phil?"

"Come on in." He sets the razor down, just in case she needs something. "You've seen me naked."

"Couple times." May shuts the door to keep the heat in but hovers next to it. Her eyes aren't puffy, and she's not that shade of green she keeps getting in the afternoons. Physically, she's fine. That makes this more complicated.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." The nod's quick, but steady. Sure. "I wanted to talk to you."

"I'm here," he promises, turning in the bath to get a better look at the mirror. "Mind if I?" He lifts the razor, asking permission and she smiles at him, playful for a moment. 

"Let me, you'll just cut yourself without a mirror." Melinda kneels down on the bathmat, getting comfortable before she reaches for the razor. Studying his face, she takes the shaving cream from the floor and sniffs it. "Mango?"

"Jemma bought it, Fitz and I are sharing."

"I see." She smiles again, this time it's easier, she's calming now that she has something to do. Her hair falls over her right shoulder, straight today, smooth. He loves her hair, how it feels in his hands. Her hands tremble a little while she coats his face, rubbing in slow circles over the stubble. 

"See, it smells nice, not too fruity." Smiling at her makes he smile back just a little more and he loves how she cheers up, even with his dorkiest efforts. 

"Uh-huh." She lifts up the razor, one of the few things he brought with him that he cares about. Stainless steel, same make as his dad's, not that he has many memories of him, but his mother kept his dad's razor around for years, and Phil got a similar handle. 

May tilts up his chin, sliding the razor through the stubble on his cheek, then leans down, rinsing it in the bathwater with him. Her hands are quick, smooth and steady now that she has a task in front of her. Maybe that's how she'll cope, just keep finding things to do until her anxiety settles. He can help with that, have her plan their trips or work on all the covers they'll need until the world stops being so much of a mess. 

She runs her fingers over his neck, making sure she shaved him closely enough to be smooth before she moves on to the next place. Her eyes are so intent, and her lips so close that he could just watch her and be utterly happy. Entirely content. She smooths leftover shaving cream away from his mouth and leans close to kiss him, gently, not asking for anything. 

He shuts his eyes, letting her hold his face where she wants it. He could ask, but he doesn't. He could press, give her an opening, let her tell him what she came in here to say, but there's something intimate in the quiet, in their shared silence. Melinda pulls him closer, kissing him deeper as she leans over the side of the tub. 

"Hey," he whispers as they part. 

"You smell nice."

Increased sensitivity to smell comes with her condition but she's not ready to say it aloud yet, so he'll wait. He can wait. 

He rinses his face and rests his arms on the edge of the tub. "So do you." 

"You're just saying that."

"You usually smell good, or like blood and jet fuel, that's less good."

"You love jet fuel."

"Only because it reminds me of you."

May stands, slowly, smiling and shaking her head. Her head still hurts, maybe if she's lucky it's just foggy today. He starts to get up, mirroring her because if she's leaving, he wants to go with. She knows and she- they need to talk about this. She's happy, underneath everything, she's smiling at him in a way that makes his heart soar.

Instead of guiding him out, she steps into the bath, clothes and all, standing between his legs before she sits down between his knees, arms around her own. 

"Hey." 

She stares at him, moves closer, then kisses him again. She lingers against his mouth, searching for herself before she looks down at the water, at their hands. 

"Hey," he repeats, turning her in his arms so she's between his legs, her back against his chest. He wraps his arms around her shoulders, holding her close in her sodden clothes. Her hair falls into the water, drifting while it stills around them. "It's okay, we're okay." 

"You believe that."

"We're easy to believe in."

She chuckles and it's almost a sob, she holds his arms tight to her chest, holding his hands over her breasts. They're heavier, fuller than they were before this started. She must have noticed, but she'll blame the hormone shots, blame everything but good fortune as long as she can. 

He'd hold her until the water got cold, but Melinda has other ideas. She sits up, stripping off her wet shirt and dropping it to the floor beside the bath. She trails her hand down his leg, and that look over her shoulder reminds him that she still hasn't forgotten the time he fumbled with her bra. Now it's off in a moment, even with his robotic hand, he's good with hooks. 

She toys with his knees before she stands, stepping out of the bath and peeling her wet pants from her hips. Luckily she'd been in her workout clothes, not her jeans. She'd never get those off wet. 

He watches her slip them off, and he's too warm for the water. Staring at her black panties clinging to her wet hips, he pulls the plug and stands, water running down his skin. Phil steps out of the bath, dripping beside her on the bathmat. He reaches for her, pulling down her panties while she holds his shoulders. He kisses her stomach on the way up, nuzzles her breast, and then kisses her, hungry and deep. 

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she stands on her tiptoes, brushing his bottom lip with her teeth. Forget towels, they need the bed,  _ now _ . He catches her legs just above the thighs and lifts her up. She chuckles, wraps her legs around his waist and kisses his neck, toying with him as he walks them to the bedroom. 

He leaves wet footprints in the hall and they hit the bed a little rougher than he intended, but she'll roll her eyes if he's too gentle with her. A handful of days pregnant is hardly enough of an excuse to be too soft. 

Except he's always been soft, and she's well aware of his weaknesses. May lies beneath him, damp against the sheets. She traces his face, stares at him, then kisses him hard, drawing him in, pulling him down. 

She's always been on top, and he's fine with that. She likes the control, and she knows what to do with her body, what feels good. Selfishly, he loves the view of her back arched when she orgasms, but this time she allows herself to remain beneath him, even wriggles deeper, making space for him between her legs. 

Running his hand down her stomach, he keeps himself from pausing because she's not ready to talk about blood tests and positives, maybe after they've had sex, she'll be calmer. Sex brings her closer, helps her focus. She used to use it as a distraction, but now she opens her heart. 

Her worries are stuck on a slow simmer today and there's plenty of time to kiss her skin. In this position, he can look into her eyes as they get close, pin her hands to the bed when she starts to lose herself, shield her from the world so she's safe. Vulnerable is so hard for her. She hates it, but this is a release she needs, something soft and unfamiliar. 

Their eyes meet, and stay, connected, together, and she trusts him, with her body, with her heart. That's enough to carry him over, to bring her tumbling with him. Arching up into him, she only shuts her eyes in that instant. She melts beneath him, molding to his body. He starts to roll off her, heart still pounding, but she shakes her head. 

"Stay." 

Propping himself up on an elbow, he toys with her damp hair, curling it around his fingers. She wipes her eyes, smiling up at him before she rolls to her side, burying her face into his chest. Her breathing slows while he holds her, easing as she calms. 

He wriggles up a little, settles her head against his chest and shuts his eyes. Her fingers dance over his heart, resting on the scar that nearly took him from all of this. 

Her scars are simpler: the bullet he dug out of her arm, a knife in her back, the thin line on her stomach where Jemma pulled out that piece of glass last year. The ones she carries closest to heart are invisible, but they weigh on her as much as the mark from Loki's scepter. 

This won't cure her, won't bring back the May he first knew, but that's all right. They're both scarred enough to match, to fit together. He's too excited to sleep, even with the pleasantness of her warmth against him. He has plenty of time to think, even if he can't reach his book. Indulging in fantasies of what they might call a child, how she might look, how he might laugh, is a more than pleasant way to pass an hour or so. 

He must have fallen asleep a little, because Fitz standing in the doorway of their bedroom surprises the hell out of him. He holds a towel in his arms, a a dark mass of something- 

May's clothes.

Which were in the bathroom, scattered all over the place. That was stupid, but he can't bring himself to regret any of it. 

Fitz looks at his feet, shuffling. "Everything all right? Something wrong?"

"We're fine, we're both fine, I'm sorry."

"This house only has the one bathroom, so..."

"Sorry, I would have gone back but she fell asleep and I--"

Fitz looks up for a moment, curious. "May's asleep in the middle of the afternoon?"

"Rough day."

"I see, well, I-" Fitz looks back at the floor, not making eye contact. Purposely not seeing Phil sitting up shirtless with May's head against his stomach. "I'm just glad you're both all right, and it seems you're both fine. Really well, and together in bed." He gestures at the clothes in his hands. "I'll just take these to the laundry." 

"Fitz, wait."

He looks up enough to meet Phil's eyes. "What is it? I don't mind the laundry, I really don't, just unexpected." 

"We were distracted."

"Yeah, well, I can see that." Fitz flushes a little pink, but he smiles. He understands.

"Not by-" Phil stops, chuckles. He shouldn't, but if he doesn't say something he's going to explode. "We wanted it, we both wanted it so badly and it worked. We're going to have a baby." 

"Jemma and I have been plenty distracted and received nothing but cheek from all of you and now--" he pauses, the words clicking into that immense brain of his. "You said baby, by which you mean pregnant, May's pregnant."

His chest is so warm he can barely breathe. "Not very far, but yes, yes she is."

"And you are thrilled, because you and her--"

"Yes."

May's clothes and the towel fall with wet thud to the floor and are utterly forgotten. Fitz runs his hand through his hair, staring at Phil before he turns his head sharply away. "I know she's been out of it, Jemma's been worried, fussing, and Daisy's been all weird, but I thought it was just some kind of treatment for her leg or something she picked up in space. There's a lot going on out in space, but pregnant isn't from space, that's here. You did that here."

Maybe he'll feel better with something to focus on. Science is best. "We did IVF."

"Well, that makes sense. You would have been taken part of the Root Cellar protocol, you're both high level, seen a lot of oh-eight-fours, perfect candidates for--" he stops, shaking his head. "I didn't say congratulations and I should, I really should, so uh, congrats to you both." He takes a step back, looking everywhere around the room but at Phil before he looks down, finding solace in the rug. "Excuse me." He retreats as if the room were on fire. 

"I'm happy for you," he calls from the hallway, as his footsteps vanish. Phil should check on him, make sure this is all right, but he's still naked and May's still asleep on his lap. Not a good time to get up. 

"Well, that went well, I think." 

May sighs a little, lifting her head to study his face. "You're ridiculous."

"You're awake?" Of course she's awake. "Why didn't you say something?"

"And ruin your moment?" She eases herself up enough to kiss him. "That was special."

"I wonder if he went straight for the whiskey."

"Who cares, I can't drink it."  She says it lightly, gently, but it carries the weight of the rest of their lives. She curls into his chest, resting her head just above his heart. "You knew what the clinic was going to say."

"Didn't you?" 

"Of course not."

"You doubt too much."

"You're going to say you had a hunch."

"I did!" He kisses her hair, grinning down at her. "I felt it, you're different, we're different there's--"

She inhales too quickly, and her fingers grab his wrist tight. "I didn't think it would work."

"You never do."

"Phil, the odds were--"

"We always beat the odds." He can feel her rolling her eyes, and corrects himself. "Sometimes we beat the odds, and we're very good at it. In this case, I feel like it's something that had to be."

May shudders, trembling for a second before she catches herself. "I didn't think, we still can't, it's so early."

"It'll work."

"You can't just say that like it's a fact, it doesn't work that way. We don't get- I don't."

He lifts her head, kissing her forehead before he finds her mouth. "Maybe this time it does."

"Phil."

"I love you, but you're very negative, Melinda." 

She makes a noise but it's too close to a sob, maybe a sigh, maybe it's just what entirely overwhelmed sounds like in the back of her throat. 

"It'll be all right."

"It would be easier if I just wanted to throw up."

"I think this is better." Curling back down into his chest, she sighs and he starts rubbing her neck. "I want to say we made it over the first hurdle, but I'm not really sure when that was, so, maybe it's better to say we're off to a start, and it's a good start." 

"It's a long way to go."

"Always is, things worth doing take time."

"I'm not patient."

"Yes you are."

"Oh really?" 

He entwines his fingers into hers, holding them against his stomach. "You've been patient with me."

"You started it."

"You're worth waiting for."

She moves their hands closer to her stomach, not all the way, just closer. "I don't know how to not keep waiting for something to go wrong."

"You deserve to be happy, everyone does, but you, Melinda more than most."

Her tears fall hot on his chest, and she shakes her head. "I'll never believe that."

"I do." He toys with her side, running his right hand over her skin because he can't feel her with the left. She pulls his hand down to her stomach, letting it rest there. 

"I'll try."

Her trying has weight, years of pain: her parents, Andrew, all the moments where she never thought she was enough, or deserved to be happy, even before, when they were just friends and he had stupid crush on Specialist Melinda May who wouldn't stop teasing him. 

He never thought falling in love could be so slow. It's meant to be wild and exciting, full of sparkling lights and moments where you just can't breathe. She's never been like that. He didn't fall for her, not like Rosalind or Audrey, somehow this grew between them slowly, tangling them like roots until his life won't stand without her. 

"I'll be here." 

She leans up enough to kiss him, resting her forehead against his cheek. Sighing so that her whole body relaxes, she nods. "I know." 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May and Daisy drive the Autobahn together, Coulson, May and Daisy end up sharing a bed. It's very very fluffy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to imaginationallcompact, holdouttrout and crazymaryt for keeping me sane while I was writing. You're such darlings.

"Of course you win."

May glances at Coulson's hand and the coin they just flipped, then grins. "Wanna play poker for it instead?"

Coulson shakes his head and smiles at her. "No, never. Fine, you get the car."

"Thank you." May looks at Daisy, tilting her head. "Coming?"

"Me?"

"I win, I get to choose. Wanna drive fast on the nicest road in the world?" May smiles at her and then winks at Coulson. Actually winks at him and Daisy, Fitz and Jemma just stand there, staring at them.

Jemma and Fitz might be married, but May and Coulson are _married_ , married.

"Yes." She can't really say anything else. Fast cars are a thing and May's a maniac. Maybe she'll be good, with the baby and everything, but maybe not. It seems not.

"Drive safe," Coulson says, touching her shoulder, smiling that all too soft smile. He leans in and May puts her hand around his neck and they're kissing. Not just hi, good morning, but _kissing,_ really kissing for a moment.

They're good at it. Daisy watches their lips move together until she shouldn't. They're her undercover, not so undercover, parents.

Fitz averts his eyes and clears his throat but Jemma keeps watching, grinning, happy. They're happy. They're all happy. Daisy grabs one of the cinnamon rolls that isn't quite what she'd call a cinnamon roll. It's softer, more like brioche. Breakfast was more different kinds of rolls than she knew existed and Phil drinking way too much coffee while May made faces at him as if kissing him would be toxic.

It's apparently not, at all. 

Jemma leans in while Fitz grabs some more bread and cheese to wrap in a napkin. "This was good."

"It was." Having breakfast together was amazing, because they just sat and ate, happily, No one called or texted, no aliens landed in Berlin. Jemma's worries about May eating enough can fade, because she finished her own plate and started eating what was on Coulson's, and he did the good husband thing and put more food on his own plate so she could take it.

When they break, they smile soft and gentle, even relieved.

Coulson's relief is fair, May hasn't had a lot of good stomach days since all of this started (though the meds might actually be worse than hormones). It's only been thirteen days, what can any of them say? What do they know about this other than what Jemma's been researching like crazy since they arrived?

Daisy's watched _Call the Midwife_ , so that should count for something, though so far she still kind of has to look away for the having the baby parts. Even on her laptop it's a little intense. Maybe she should download the rest of it, or find a documentary or just read what Jemma recommended.

Though she's really not going to be much help.

Maybe she can do another part, like boil water or something. It's kind of useless anyway. It's months before that part and maybe she should just focus on today and rolls with Nutella inside and the way May looks at the cars they could rent on her smartphone like they're all most delicious thing in the world. And then Phil's ass when he gets up to pay. Daisys not sure at first, but May's eyes run down his shoulders, then his back and remain fixed on his ass while he stands there, paying the check.

Daisy tries to nudge Jemma but she and Fitz are laughing and feeding each other tiny bits of cheese and May's the safer breakfast companion.

"What do you think of this one?" May passes her the phone, indicating some engine specs that would make Robbie a little giddy.

"Looks fun."

"I thought so."

Coulson returns and Fitz and Jemma get up, starting to talk about the train and sightseeing and Jemma makes it all sound so earnest that Daisy stares at them before she realizes this is like a honeymoon. At least, kind of closest thing they'll get before the world starts needing them again.  

Phil waits behind May's chair, her coat in his hands and the way they smile at each other is enough to even make Fitz notice.

"Eight hours, give or take."

"I could take Daisy for lunch and find a way to make up time."

Coulson glances down for a moment and smiles, content, happy, maybe even a little amused that May's taking their baby for a joyride on the road without a speed limit. "I'm sure you could."

"See you in Bavaria."

Daisy takes the bags, they're not heavy, though since she's been shopping they're a little more like actually travelling, not running away. Which is better, it's calmer. May's all efficient with the car rental and then they have keys and a gorgeous luxury sedan with way too much going on under the hood in all the right ways.

And leather seats that are stupidly comfortable, like body hugging glorious. It's not the kind of car you sleep in. It's so nice you probably don't even have sex in the backseat if you own one, but it'll be comfortable, and fun.

May drives like a pilot, slipping through traffic, as if she's surrounded by clouds, not cars. She lets Daisy surf the fancy (free satellite) radio and pick whatever she wants and then they just drive, gliding down the hallway.

She never got to go on a road trip with her mom. Never had one of those you and me driving out to see the world sort of things. It must feel like this, staring at the road and the trees, listening to music that doesn't matter at all except it's there.

And May only raised an eyebrow a little at nineties industrial music. She lived through the nineties, she must have heard this in clubs undercover or in the dorms or--

"What do you listen to?"

"Hmmm?"

"Music, what do you like for music?" It's like one of the most basic getting to know you questions and Daisy has no idea.

"Most of it's fine." May watches the road for awhile in silence. There's been plenty of silence, but it's the pleasant kind. May has the contented pilot face, not worried Mom face or anything. "Phil has a thing for old jazz, and a couple playlists that are just for Lola because he thinks vintage music fits the aesthetic."

"That's adorable."

"Isn't it?" May smiles a little bit more, and her cheeks move. Her eyes even light up a bit. "He likes to think he has game."

"Coulson called it game?" He said that? He must have by the way May smiles. "Did you like him then?"

"When?"

"When you met, when he had game."

"He's never--" May rolls her eyes a little and reaches for her water bottle. "The first mission we went on together, he left me in the Bay for hours because he couldn't work out a way to fish me out. It wasn't exactly love at first sight."

"I've heard that."

"It's less funny when you're the one in a wetsuit."

Dasy chuckles, trying to imagine both of them young and foolish and how much May must have teased him.

"He's gotten better at talking his way out of things."

"He's still not good."

Turning in her seat to get a better look at May, Daisy shakes her head. "You know, he was the director of one of the most secretive agencies on Earth."

"And If I ever ask him to play strip poker, he'll blush the color of Lola."

That Daisy can imagine. "Before or after you start winning?"

"Before he even sits down."

* * *

 

After they pick up Coulson, Jemma and Fitz from the train station, they drive a ways to the village and the hotel. It's packed apparently, cars fill the streets for some kind of festival and the hotel made a mistake. They have two rooms, both with a king size bed. Not useful for five people. The person at the desk is really apologetic, but they don't have a cot either. It's really busy. They still have the car until tomorrow and Daisy could totally sleep in that. It's a nice car, probably really comfortable.  She volunteers but everyone's against that in an instant.

Jemma suggests they split ladies in one and men in the other, which is sensible, but Fitz and Jemma both look a little sad about that, they just got married after all.

"It's fine, Daisy, come with us," May says gently.

"I can sleep on the floor," Fitz starts, but that's a stupid idea.

"We could try another hotel."

"But the whole town is busy."

"We could drive one town over."

It shouldn't really be this complicated. King sized beds are huge, Jemma, Daisy and May would easily fit in one or maybe Daisy just stays with May and Coulson because that seems to be what May wants.

May gets what she wants more often than she doesn't. Usually that's a good thing.

They stand outside, to the left of the door. Next to them is a full beer garden, with people laughing and talking, drinking. It's lively but nice. Daisy can't help watching them, drawn to an easy drink. After they work out whatever they're going to do for sleeping arrangements, she could just go grab a beer. Maybe she can buy one in the market, the rules seem a little relaxed here and her German is just bad enough to apologize profusely. 

She tunes out part of the discussion until her eyes wander back and she looks at May. Maybe it's because they've been together all day so she's had time to read what might be going on behind that seemingly expressionless face. She was happy driving, happy when Daisy was driving (which was a surprise).

Now though, something's off. She stands too still. She's not mad, none of them are being that ridiculous, Coulson, Jemma and Fitz are all staring at Jemma's phone, looking at other hotels that that might have space.

Daisy shifts her weight towards May, trying to read her and then she smells the cigarettes. Right. It's almost vaguely pleasant, like dive bars and back alleys, but it's not like that for May. She got weird when they were painting the bathrooms at the rest stop. Smelled the wet paint before they even got in the building and then Daisy got to drive. Cigarettes must be just as bad, not that she'll say anything. Weakness isn't something she is good at admitting. 

"It's okay," Daisy says, reaching for Coulson's shoulder to stop the search. "We'll make it work. It's fine, let's just go in."

Jemma and Fitz are so relieved that they disappear almost as soon as they hit the lobby. Coulson wouldn't have crowded them but they are newlyweds. She smirks as they vanish and May smiles a little back.

"Guess they were fun on the train."

Coulson runs his hand through his hair. "You have no idea."

"Maybe you should have come with us."

"The whole point of splitting up was to change our travel patterns."

 

This is the most parental thing, reporting back to dad what you did with mom all day. It's weird, and nice, and weird, and her chest warms up when Coulson grins.

"It was fun, May picked a really nice car."

"I'm sure she did, no Lola though, she's something special." They step into their room, Coulson drops their bags and stares at the bed, working something out in his head. He opens his mouth to argue, or maybe to volunteer to sleep on the floor, again, but he's past that. Daisy might even be past that. She's had a bed too long, gotten soft.

"It's all right Phil, I'm tired."

And the argument ends before it starts. May sits on the bed, rubbing her temples. She was fine driving but maybe now that they've stopped, after cigarettes, now it's getting to her, or perhaps she's not above exaggerating when she needs to.

"Right, okay."

"I can sleep on the floor," Daisy offers one last time and May rolls her eyes so strongly it has to make a noise.

"It's a king sized bed, Daisy, do you think we're college students who can't keep our hands off each other? We have the rest of our lives to have sex."

Coulson chokes a little by the sink, spilling some water as he fills the electric kettle. "I didn't know you looked at it that way."

"It's a beginning." May sighs and pushes herself back on the bed, She lies down in the middle, a kind of neutral zone. Yes, it's a huge bed. She has a point and they're them, they probably even cuddle without moving much. Coulson moves towards her and she pats the bed on her right, away from the door. He rest his arms on the bed, leaning down over her and smiles.

"So Daisy gets the door."

Nodding without opening her eyes, May reaches up for him, finding his face easily. "I trust her."

"Not me."

Smirking, May shakes her head. "Daisy is a protector now, more than you." May's hand rests against his chest and she sighs, kissing him lightly. "I can't fall asleep like this."

"You could."

"I could, that's the problem." She sits up onto her elbows, hair falling back to the bed over her gray sweater. Phil brushes her cheek with his own, nuzzling her face and it's so intimate.

She's heard the word before, usually thinks of it as a euphemism for sex, but like, married people sex. Making love and all stuff she doesn't do, but here it is, staring at each other and touching, being in each other's space, not in the way FitzSimmons does it, where they're this close to having sex, this is just them.

She shouldn't watch. She shouldn't even be here. Go back to the awesome car and sleep in that in the parking lot, except May would kill her and Coulson would be right behind her and somehow they're keeping her.

May slips past Coulson, sighing a little, stretching. She ducks into the bathroom with her pyjamas and Coulson turns, sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands on his knees while the kettle rumbles as it starts to boil.

"She always sleeps next to the door, but apparently you're ready to be promoted, Daisy." Coulson says, fidgeting with his hands. He wriggles his fingers on the left, then removes it with a twist. Her stomach jumps even though she's seen him take it off and seen him without it. He's still taking off his hand. He putters with the charger, plugging it in like it's his phone. Then he starts making May's tea.

"Promoted?"

"May never lets me sleep between her and the door, even when we were younger." He grabs another mug. "There's some hot chocolate and plenty of tea if you want anything."

"Hot chocolate, please."

She grabs her laptop and her headphones so she can be here but only a little bit. Losing herself in her computer is the closest she can get to giving them some privacy. Coulson mixes up hot chocolate and walks it over to her, eyeing her headphones. "You don't have to do that, unless you want to."

"What?"

He touches her shoulder, smiling. "You don't have to hide unless you want to."

"I'm not hiding."

"Good."

He leaves her to her laptop and her music, speaking softly to May when she emerges from the bathroom in her pyjamas with her hair back.

She wraps her hands around her tea and sits on the edge of the bed, checking her phone. Daisy can't help wondering who she texts. Her parents? They're both still alive. Has she told them? What do they think?

"Do your parents know?"

May turns, setting her phone down. "Know what?" She asks so innocently that Daisy could throw a pillow at her.

Only the biggest thing you've done in the last month. A life changing thing. That you're apparently not telling them yet. Got it.

"They know I'm alive, not in some black box prison."

"And?"

"And I'm with Coulson and the team."

"Not the other thing."

"No."

She really shouldn't ask, and yet.... "Why haven't you told them?"

May sips her tea, looks at Daisy, then down at the mug. "I'll tell them later."

"Later?"

"In person." May still doesn't like saying the word. Coulson said she hadn't actually used the word yet. It's still so early, she must be freaking out, somehow. Internally.

"Right." Maybe she didn't want anyone to know and Daisy just knows because she's here, and kind of hard not to tell. "I get it."

"You don't have to get it." May sets her tea down on the table by the bed and starts shifting the pillows around behind her. "I know you didn't grow up with a mother, much less my mother."

Daisy's laptop drifts into screen saver and she's forgotten all about the music she started. "She's kind of hard core?"

May pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She's so small sitting there, hair soft on her shoulders. "She still hasn't forgiven me for leaving Andrew and ruining my life."

"She liked him?"

"He was the best choice I made." Her eyes soften, her expression sad and still. May blinks and then rests her chin on her arms. "She likes Phil too."

"Of course she does, he's charming."

"I am," Coulson adds, somehow knowing they mean him as he wanders out of the bathroom. May's stolen that Captain America shirt several times but tonight it's his. He crawls into bed behind her, wrapping his good arm around her shoulders and May cuddles into him, seeking his warmth.

"For a very narrow definition of charming."

"Your favorite definition of charming," he corrects, nuzzling her hair.

May rolls her eyes and grabs his book, settling in so that the heavy copy of _Ulysses_ lies on her lap, and all he has to do is turn the pages with his hand.

Too bad she can't draw. They'll never let her take a picture, but it's the cutest thing she's seen. FitzSimmons are going to have to work on their 'we just got married' cute.

"You're something."

"At least warm."

"You are warm." May yawns into her shoulder and snuggles further into the blankets and Daisy stares while Coulson disappears into his book. May’s not reading it (apparently it's way too postmodern to be at all interesting to her).

"What are your parents going to think? Do they want to be grandparents?" How old are they? If May's mom was terrifying, what's her father like? Was he more like Coulson? Did they laugh? Had they raised a child with stern looks and strict bedtimes? Checking every report card just in case future Agent May had gotten an A- instead of an A in Advanced Physics? Had she ever skipped a class? Did she get yelled at?

She can easily picture baby agent looking up at May and Coulson, eyes wide and innocent. She'd have to be tough to stand up to May's mom face, and Coulson would just stand behind her, arms crossed, trying to look stern, but not smiling.

"They did, before. They'll be surprised now, but they'll adapt."

"Your dad's going to be adorable. Telling all the stories about when you were little, spoiling his grandchild..."

May rolls her eyes, but it's the nice kind. The soft kind of eyeroll comes with a smile. "My mother will be more difficult."

"She likes me."

Yawning into her shoulder, May shuts her eyes. "She'll like you more now."

Coulson toys with hair, stroking her forehead. "It's one way to sneak into her good graces."

"You listen to her about cooking." May's voice softens, turning more mumbly. She really was tired. 

For a long time, the only sound Coulson turning pages, and Daisy's fingers on her keyboard, so maybe May's asleep. Daisy's finishes her hot chocolate, heads into the bathroom to change into her pyjamas and returns to her place at the desk.

"Dim the lights?" Coulson asks, turning on the reading lamp above the bed. May's definitely asleep now, curled into his chest so that the book rests against her and the blankets. Even totally out, she has her hand in the right spot to keep his book steady. How is beyond Daisy, but it's pretty cute.

"She let me drive you know," Daisy says softly, quiet enough that Coulson can ignore her if he's really into his book.

"Oh?"

"Said I should get to try a fast car on a good road."

"The Autobahn is a great driving experience, especially in a good car."

"If by great, you mean May's a speed demon, than yeah, and I rode with Robbie and his Rider. May does know that flying is supposed to be off the ground, right?"

Coulson's face couldn't be softer. "I'm glad you had fun."

"We did. We talked-" she pauses, pulling her knees up in her chair. "Music, travelling, your old missions together. We actually talked for hours and she let me drive."

Coulson smiles a little more, leaning back against the headboard. "Sounds wonderful."

"You know, my mom tried to kill me so she could destroy the world so I can't say I really know what it's like to have one."

He blinks suddenly fighting his eyes. "I was really close to my mother, and I'm sorry--"

"I've got one now." Shutting her laptop, she walks to the bed. May's all curled up into Coulson and it's a huge bed; Daisy's easily got half of it. She climbs in beside them, leaning on the headboard before she turns her head to look at them. "I'm still kind of foggy on what the whole mom experience is supposed to be like, but I think that was it. It was nice."

"And she let you drive."

"She let me drive! That was cool." Daisy meets his eyes and even in the weak light, they're way too soft. Too liquid.

Phil reaches over May's head and squeezes Daisy's hand. "I'm glad."

"I thought she'd kill me when you made her my SO."

"I know."

"And I thought she hated me."

"She didn't."

"Now, I think she's the closest thing I have to a mom, and I think I'm really lucky, because she's really great at it."

Coulson's totally crying now, and he's given up on hiding it. It's dark anyway. "She's really great."

"You both are." She squeezes his hand in response. "And I know Baby Agent here's going to have such a good life because her mom and dad are already the best parents I know."

"We don't have any doctorates."

"FitzSimmons have like six between them, it'll be fine."

"Daisy--"

"You're going to be great, I know."

"Thanks." After a moment, he switches off the reading light and Daisy slips into the blankets. May's all draped over Coulson so there's tons of space.

"And don't worry," she says as he slips into the bed, shifting May around him so she's comfortable. "I'll try not to fight too much with baby agent when they get here."

"Good, I hear sibling rivalry can be difficult."

His breathing slows, softening like May's. Daisy wonders if he's asleep, and maybe it's better if they both are when she says it.

"Thanks."

More quiet. She hasn't really shared a bed with anyone she wasn't dating since foster care, and that was kind of horrible. All those abandoned kids like her.

This is the opposite. She's loved. She's basically their kid and they're talking about her sibling, like they're her parents.

"We love you." That's half mumbling, punctuated by May's hand sweeping towards her. "We love you, Daisy."

"You're asleep." Nothing. More quiet. Does she talk in her sleep? Should she ask Coulson? Be brave and ask May when she's awake?

Or just trust them.

They love her.

She stares up at the ceiling, then rolls on her side, staring at them. This is her family. That's pretty cool. Still doesn't seem real, but she can work with it. Adapt, somehow. Would be easier if she could just hack herself and take away some of the things she worries about. Delete some ineffective algorithms. Think of May smiling at the silly song on the radio station instead of Jiaying trying to kill her. That's her mother.

And her father snores a little, but he's really cute the way his chin's on May's head. Part of her can't help waiting for this to go wrong, for her to get ripped away from the place she's safe, but they'd never let they happen. They crawled their way back from the future and from space, fought Hydra, her evil parents, aliens that take over bodies. Maybe, this is okay. Maybe this is where she stays.

It's a nice thought.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team hides out in a cabin in Germany and has some time for little things, like family dinners and board games. Melinda's nauseated again, but everyone looks after her and she doesn't hate it. Not even a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> total family and emotions and being together, many thanks to holdouttrout, crazymaryt and imaginationallcompact.

Pressing her forehead into Phil's t-shirt, she sighs, eyes shut. He pats her arm, finding her fingers and pulling her hand up to his chest. It's so early that it's still dark, and behind the curtains, rain patters on the window. That makes the whole thing so frustrating. She's not hungry, doesn't need to be awake, and yet... Her breasts itch, heavy even though they're pressed against his back. 

Rain patters against the window, wind whipping around their little cabin in some half-hearted storm. The window's open a crack for fresh air, and in early autumn, they didn't need a thick blanket. At least, Phil didn't. She's still cold. Jemma says her body temperature is a little high, which is normal. Whatever passes for normal now. 

Phil rolls over, wrapping her tighter in his arms, holding her close to his chest. "Hey."

He smells familiar, better than the foreign sheets and the pine trees outside the window. 

"You okay?"

What does she say? Her head hurts, throbbing if she moves and her stomach's rising into her throat.  He strokes her hair, probably still half asleep. 

"If I don't move."

"Try to go back to sleep." 

"Very wise."

He chuckles, because that's his response to that tone. 

"I'm sorry. You need sleep."

"I'll take a nap." Yesterday she fell asleep while he read his book and Jemma pointed out, almost proud, that it was the third time that week. It's lazy, complacent. They could be found and need to run, but the bags are packed enough. Fitz and Daisy have enough surveillance on the cabin that they nearly went out after a bear, icers in hand. 

They're all right today, maybe even tomorrow.

"It's just a couple more weeks."

"So you say."

"Optimism is kind of my thing."

"I know." She's going to throw up, maybe not in the next hour or so, but definitely before lunch. She makes a little disgusted sound and buries herself closer to him. 

"I'm sorry." He keeps running his fingers through her hair, dancing them over her scalp. His fingers are cool little points, like rain. 

"Don't be."

"So be happy you want to throw up?'

"It's for a good cause." She nearly loses the last word in a whimper. Maybe she shouldn't speak. He can talk for both of them, that's always worked before."

"The garbage can is next to the bed. I've got you. It's all right."

Beats throwing up on the floor. Maybe she can focus, think about something else. 

"Not very romantic."

"You kidding? This is the most romantic." 

His standards are suspect, but if she keeps her eyes closed, her stomach's not as bad. 

He kisses her forehead again. "I've got you, what else could I need?"

Whistling around the cabin, the wind whispers at them while the rain drums down. Focus on that, on him, on her breathing, focus on anything but her stomach. Maybe it'll go away if she goes back to sleep. If she can figure out how to go back to sleep. Where's Phil's book when she needs it? 

She runs through the basic forms in her head, poses, maneuvers, everything she's drilled in since she was a child. That helps, that she can focus on. How her limbs should move is a positive thing, something she can control about her body, not this. This is outside of what she knows, what she understands about her own flesh. Right now, her breasts still hurt, they're hot, heavy inside her skin, and none of her feels like hers.

Maybe it's not. Maybe it's like some kind of parasitic infection, their traveller, taking over her over. 

"Sleep," he whispers. "Listen to the rain. You can hear it in the trees, not just on the roof."

He loves the middle of nowhere. Heavy forests remind him of home, fishing in the woods with his parents. He'll teach this one how to tease fish out of water with a line. She's only ever found ponds useful when they're frozen, but maybe that's how they balance each other.

* * *

 

 

It's still raining when she wakes up again, and he's gone. She rolls onto her back, hands on her chest. The bed's cool without him, and she pushes off the blanket, trying to focus on the cold, and the sound of the rain. Just hold still, wait for it to pass. It'll pass. It's just hormones, and she can beat them.

"Hey," he starts, setting things down next to the bed. "I was hoping you'd sleep a little longer." 

"It's cold without you."

"And without the blanket."

She waits. 

Of course he talks. "Stomach's still bad?"

Nodding once is enough movement to force her to swallow, and he sits beside her, reaching for her hand. 

"I brought crackers, and Daisy found ginger ale at the store. She's really good at shopping."

"No."

"No?" He leans down, stroking her hands. "It might help."

"No." She sits up, which makes her stomach roll like a jet pulling a hard six. 

He moves towards the garbage can, and she'd laugh except they might actually need the damn thing. "Gently."

"I'm not eating in bed, Phil."

"That's it?"

"It's nice, having a--"

"Okay, okay." He reaches for her shoulders, holding her steady. "How about the floor? I promise I'll sweep."

Meeting his eyes without daring to nod, or even speak, she shuts her eyes when he gets it. Phil picks her up, and then they're sitting together on cool wood, leaning against the bed. His arm stays around her shoulders, firmer than her own control. 

"Sorry."

"You can--"

"Didn't want to leave you. FitzSimmons are still making breakfast anyway. Beans and toast--"

Squeezing his wrist makes him reach for the little plastic garbage can and he sets it just beyond her knees. "And oatmeal. I figured that was much safer."

"My parents used to make rice porridge."

"Yeah?"

Thinking about them is easier. Her mother always had to go to work, but her father would sit at home with her when she was sick, make sure she ate, and then watch whatever was on television. Usually it was terrible. 

Rubbing her shoulder with his right hand, he opens the plastic sleeve of crackers with his left. "Eat, Simmons swears it'll help, and she's been buried in books all morning."

Taking one saltine cracker, she holds it like poison. 

"I got you out of bed."

There's no way to put it into words that her body isn't her own right now and she has no way of fighting back. She takes a bite as if it's going to kill her, but she doesn't throw up, not with a mouthful of dry cracker, or after she manages to swallow. 

"It's okay," he continues, still smiling. "This is the hardest thing you have to do today, by far. Everything else is downhill."

It takes three bites to finish the first stupid cracker but she releases the death grip on his knee. Maybe it's not that bad. Maybe Jemma is right. He cracks open the can of soda, passing that to her. Her sweaty hands slip over the condensation on the metal, but it can sit on the floor, it's all right there. 

"Your last blood test was good, hormone levels were high, which is probably why we're here now, but Jemma says it's all very positive. Even this part, though I know it's unpleasant."

"Not bad."

"You're staring at a can of ginger ale like it's radioactive waste." He kisses her hair, stroking the sweat from her forehead. "I won't even mention the worst option, that'll really make you throw up."

Coffee's never made her nauseated, but the acrid burn in the back of her throat suggests that she doesn't want to push her luck any further than she already has. 

"Hey." He draws her attention away from the ginger ale she still hasn't trusted herself to drink. "Better or worse than before your wedding?"

It's an unfair comparison. She could only blame herself (and him) for the hangover, but this means something. It's not even just the anticipation of marrying Andrew, of starting that life together, this is a life. This is that squirming, laughing, little child she never thought she'd have. That she doesn't deserve. 

"Better."

"That's the most positive thing you've said."

Taking a breath, she steadies her hands and takes a sip. The bubbles sting the back of her nose and the sugar clings to her tongue, but it doesn't come rushing back up. 

Footsteps pad over the old floor and those blue socks have to be Jemma's. Daisy rarely cares enough to make hers match. 

"How's it going?"

"We've had better mornings, though she says it's not bachelor party bad, so we're still doing all right."

Jemma crouches down beside them, kneeling on the floor to look at her face. "Did you know your stomach acid is actually affected by your hormones? Which can add to the sensation of nausea but tends to soften the detrimental effects of reverse peristalsis." 

Makes sense. Everything else is enslaved to her hormones, why not that? 

Jemma touches her forehead, her fingers much cooler than Phil's. "Your body temperature's still elevated, and you should be careful to make sure you're staying hydrated, especially if you do end up vomiting."

"Thanks." 

"It'll pass," Jemma promises. "Statistically most nausea ends with the first trimester, and you're more than halfway through that now. You can start thinking of it as the home stretch. That probably doesn't help at all." Her little smile is very kind and very soft. "You'll get through this, and it'll be worth it. I personally don't have a lot of experience with babies, but I think I'm going to really love getting to know this one, even though their brain won't be advanced enough for any real kind of interaction until several months after birth."

"Good to know." Phil turns his smile towards Jemma, and he probably hasn't looked at any of the books about how to parent an infant yet, he's focused on now. Probably hasn't thought much beyond this moment, where they're going next, how he'll keep her safe. 

She doesn't let anyone else worry about that. Daisy, Jemma and Fitz fuss, and they're protective, but Phil's the only one who she really allows to hover. 

"Everything okay?" 

When she opens her eyes again, Fitz sits next to Jemma, his hands on his knees. "I made the most boring porridge imaginable, and it might be a little better warm than cold, but if cold helps, then it's right there for you."

Daisy leans in the doorway, her hair falling over one shoulder. "It's still raining as if the sky's angry with us, maybe even hailing, so we were thinking we'd play board games, if you're up for it."

"Distractions are good," Phil answers for her, rubbing her knee. "And this usually passes by mid morning. Breakfast helps." He turns his face to her, almost stern. "When you eat it." He presses another cracker into her hand and she can't remember the last time she had an audience so intent on her ability to finish it. 

"Daisy's pretty sure she downloaded the instructions for the newest game in English, but she could be cheating."

"You're just disappointed you didn't take the German elective at the Academy." 

"It didn't seem relevant, we've been on the same side since World War Two ended, and Hydra was really supposed to be gone."

"Well--"

"We know how that went." 

"Come on, May," Jemma insists when she's done arguing with Fitz. "Try the porridge, that should settle things a little." She offers her hand, and Phil's right there. Fitz and Daisy stay close, ready to fuss as much as everyone else. 

Melinda can't even hate it. All of their care is rooted in affection and concern because she and Phil took them all out of what was familiar, shook up what all of them thought was important. Jemma and Fitz getting married was a start, an unravelling of the way they functioned as a team, and this just tugs at it. She's mentored all of them, protected them, and now they hover around the kitchen table, talking and laughing while she stares at the bowl in front of her like it's an endurance test.  

They're her family, and this child is theirs too. Too bad she can't share the nausea with the affection. 

Jemma touches her shoulder, smiling again, and brings her more tea before she takes away the mostly empty bowl of porridge; the last few bites are impossible. Phil pats her hand under the table and she's never seen Daisy look so happy about her turn washing dishes. 

Fitz makes sure the table is close to the sofa so she barely has to move as they lay out the game. 

Spending the entire day killing time while the rain pours down and they wait to be certain of their next move, doesn't even feel like an operation. It's a vacation. This is the holiday in Europe Jemma and Fitz joked about and never got to take. The family vacation Daisy's never had a chance to have. She's travelled with Phil across the world, shared bedrooms and tents, even slept rough a few times., but this time it's intimate, close in a way they've never been before. She wakes up against his chest and falls asleep listening to his breathing. 

She could be doing anything with them and it would be wonderful. Playing this strategy game that Fitz is so convinced he's winning is pleasant, even takes her mind off her headache. 

She should have done something, made this happen years ago, but perhaps the timing wasn't right. Maybe they had to look a miserable future in the face to realize what they had to change here to make it better. She rests her head on Phil's shoulder, shutting her eyes and listening to them work out who won.

Fitz nearly drops his pencil in surprise. "May won by eighteen points."

Phil starts to chuckle, then kisses her hair. "I'll get more tea."

"I'll get biscuits," Jemma adds, jumping up to follow him. 

"That's not--" Fitz pauses, scratching the back of his head. "You were collecting rubies, that's not, that's not a stable strategy for the long term."

"It worked."

"This time." Fitz starts setting up the game again.

Daisy raises her eyebrows and sits back. "Again?" 

The first round took most of the morning, They'll need to break for lunch and the rain's still pouring down. Phil kept smiling at her, toying with her hair because he knew she'd win, and Fitz apparently did not. 

"Eighteen points, and you've never played this game before." Fitz taps one of the tokens. "It's supposed to be difficult."

Phil and Jemma return with more cookies than they could ever really need. He grabs one and pops it in his mouth before he sits down. Jemma starts pouring tea while Daisy and Fitz stare. 

"It was difficult." 

Toying with the inside of her wrist, Phil smiles that very knowing smile. "She likes difficult games."

"Yeah, we all like games, but one of us won by eighteen points."

"Maybe you'll win this time." 

Leaning closer, Phil nuzzles her ear. "You'd think he'd remember what they say about specialists and winning."

"Maybe he skipped that day."

Dais slips next to her on the sofa, reaching across for a cookie. "What are you two whispering about?"

"May doesn't lose board games." 

"What, like ever?"

"Or cards." Phil passes her a cookie and shrugs. "Never play cards with May."

"Noted."

"I'm not evil."

"You are, actually indeed evil."

"There's a strip poker story, isn't there?" Daisy looks at Jemma who sips her tea and leans back. 

"Well, lets hear it while Fitz sets up the game he has to win."

"I don't have to win." 

"Uh huh."

Phil makes the story grandiose and ridiculous at the same time, spinning it so their long dead friends seem to be there again. There are several asides, random pieces of backstory that have to be added on, sometimes they backtrack. The cookies disappear and Fitz loses the game not just to her this time (she's up by eleven) but to Daisy as well. 

He shakes his head. "All right, all right. Hopefully you like pasta because it's one of the things I'm better at cooking, and Jemma couldn't find buffalo mozzarella." 

"Or prosciutto, possibly because I couldn't ask for it the right way." 

"Can we ask for anything the right way?" 

"We do have those dumplings? We can make soup, soup is good, right?" Fitz looks first at Jemma, then to Phil and Daisy before he meets her eyes. "I don't want to--"

Melinda rolls her eyes at him. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure, because you still look kinda..."

"Kind of pale, really-"

"Not quite green-"

"Maybe a shade-" 

"Something on that side of the spectrum, still very beautiful, of course."

She laughs a little, weary but amused. "You think I'm beautiful?"

"Yes."

"Beyond a shadow of a doubt."

"Seriously, you're like, fucking hot." 

"Thank you, Daisy, that's--"

The acute awareness of just how much she's going to miss them hits her like another wave of nausea and she stops, just staring at them. Phil rubs her back, because he gets it. He's saying goodbye to them as well and it'll be so quiet until they see them again. 

"Thanks."

"Don't get emotional on us," Daisy teases. "We're counting on you to be stoic so the rest of us don't cry." 

"It'll fly by," Phil promises, touching her cheek in a way that makes it better and a hundred times worse. Even Daisy's going and they haven't been apart from her for more than a handful of days since she was off on her own, and she's hours past when her nausea bugs her, but this is harder. She can't just empty her stomach and take this away. This will stay with her, nag like an old injury. 

Daisy can move quickly, and insivisibly through the world, she's done that before, and she has backup out there if she needs it. Bobbi and Hunter are within her reach, and Mack and Elena are in South America. Daisy can collect them, assemble a team again. She'll be fine, absolutely fine, but they'll be without her. She and Phil will have each other and a quiet house thousands of miles away from everything, and not their team.

That has to be enough for awhile. A kind of retirement, a long vacation, a break they needed, nausea and all. It'll be fine. Even if thinking about letting them go makes her eyes sting. She doesn't usually struggle to keep her emotions in check, she can use them, but now Melinda buries her forehead in Phil's shoulder, shutting her eyes and steeling herself. They're all leaving tomorrow, but she'll have him. 

She always has him. 

Phil runs his fingers over her back, between her shoulder blades. 

"Come on Fitz, let's see what soup looks like," Daisy announces, smiling a little. 

"We could just put beer in it like everything else," Fitz jumps up to follow her. 

Jemma lingers, circling to study her face.  "How's the dizziness?"

"I'm not-"

"Of course not, you'd never be dizzy, anyway, let me check your blood pressure."

She could resist, argue that she's fine, but this is how Jemma cares, so she obeys. Phil, sweet and soft as he is, sits beside her, resting his hand on her knee. 

"Daisy's fake passports should be enough that we can fly, they shouldn't check us too closely, we'll be within the European Union and that tends to be lower security." She slides the blood pressure cuff up Melinda's arm, moving her shirt. "Of course, the trains are easier, and Daisy's fake Russian visas for you are much better than the usual fakes people use to travel, and once you get to China you'll just blend in, right?"

"I won't," Phil teases, his hand finding the back of his neck. "But I'm used to that. Confused tourist, beautiful wife." 

"You got lucky."

"I did."

Jemma watches them and the needle on the cuff, counting under her breath. "We'll be able to keep in touch, we have the links Daisy made us and encrypted emails. It won't be long before we see you again."  She blinks, smiling even though has to sniffs. "You will be missed, both of you." She glances down for a second and then looks back up. "It'll go so fast."

"The mornings do not."

"I know, I'm sorry. I can give you some antiemetics, but those are really designed to stop you from vomiting, not really take away the sensation that you might." That little wince is almost too sweet. 

"It's all right."

Phil smiles at Jemma, a little skeptical. "You know she'd say that anyway." 

"I do, which is why I wish I could do more." Jemma releases the cuff, and nods. "Your blood pressure's still a little low, so I want you to take it easy, make sure you drink enough water, eat regularly, stand up slowly if you've been sitting for awhile, and keep up your tai chi, because that should help your body feel more like yours."

"Thank you, Jemma."

"Of course, it's really my pleasure, I- I am so happy for you."

Every other time they've hugged, Jemma's started it. Not that Melinda minds, she's not used to responding to affection, rather than initiating it, but this time, she hugs her close. Jemma relaxes against her, exhaling slowly. Phil pats her back, and then he's with them, wrapping Jemma up tight between them. 

"Be careful, please."

"We will."

"And look after each other, remember to eat healthily, put avocados in your green smoothies because you really should increase your fat intake, especially for the first trimester." 

"We'll be fine," Melinda promises her. "Phil will make sure we eat well. He can't stop cooking." 

"Cooking for family is one of the great pleasure in life." 

"That's how I know we'll see you, soon. We're family."

Melinda's eyes sting. She could fight it, but there's no reason to. Not today. Her eyes are wet when Jemma pulls back, and she stares at her, blinking back her own tears. "I always wanted a big family."

In the kitchen, Daisy and Fitz laugh about something, and Phil touches her cheek, easing her tears away. 

"Don't tell them she cried, I want it to be a surprise, just imagine the looks on their faces."

Rolling her eyes only makes Jemma laugh and Phil leans close to kiss her.

Daisy and Fitz emerge from the kitchen, Fitz holding a potato with the most perplexed expression. 

"What? Everything okay?"

"We're fine." Phil's far too pleased with himself. 

"I just wanted to check May's blood pressure and then we started talking about splitting up."

"I thought we weren't talking about that at dinner," Daisy reminds them. "Just, let it wait until tomorrow and we can all hate it then."

"It's hard for all of us," Fitz adds, fidgeting with the potato in his hands. "But we'll find each other again, we always do, even across time and space. One little planet's pretty easy."

"I know."

They crowd around her again, dinner momentarily forgotten and instead of mocking her tears or staring at them in awe, Daisy touches her shoulder, and Phil's. "You're going to be so cute when we see you again, because baby Agent will probably be kicking and you won't be able to stop talking about it."

"I think that's normal."

"I'm not sure I like kids," Fitz says, kneeling down in front of the sofa. "Never know what to say to them, never spent any time around babies, but this one, I'm excited to know, because we can teach her how to hold a wrench, and what kind of screwdriver to use and watch her figure out basic kinds of physics. She'll even have to figure out gravity. That's pretty cool, if you think about it." 

They spend so much time hugging and crying that dinner's going to be late, really late, which is probably why they promised not to talk about splitting up tonight. Phil can't resist rolling up his sleeves and saving dinner (he loves cooking) and Daisy ends up sitting on the sofa beside her. Daisy hands her another tissue and shakes her head. "I used to think you didn't even have tear ducts." 

"I didn't, Jemma put these in last week." Melinda keeps her expression neutral and Daisy laughs. Her laugh has such light in it. 

"You're going to be amazing parents, you know that right?"

"We wouldn't be here without you."

"Stuck in Germany?"

"Not that kind of here." 

Daisy just looks at her, patient and confused, and Melinda sighs, grabbing her hands. 

"You, Jemma and Leopold, helped bring us here, reminded us that we could want something more than work, and we needed that, because we'd forgotten we were more than agents."

"Kinda easy to become a workaholic when you're literally saving the world, isn't it?" 

"It seems like everything else should come first. That you owe that to the world because you can protect them."

"That doesn't mean you don't matter, that you can't want anything for yourself. You deserve this, more than anyone. You know that, right?" The way Daisy can say that with such certainty means that they've done better with her training than they ever achieved by themselves. That maybe in this rebirth of SHIELD and all it stands for they can have a little room for their own lives. That Daisy will make different choices and she won't realize what she wants so late.

Almost too late. 

Phil wanders back, asking a gentle question about what they want to drink with dinner, but Melinda's still crying and now Daisy's started.

He crouches in front of them, his hand on Melinda's arm. "I didn't know you were so disappointed that you can't have wine with dinner." 

"You're going to be such great parents, you know that, right? It'll be all dad jokes and mom faces and Baby Agent's going to be so loved."

Phil nods, and the way he looks at Daisy holds so much affection that his eyes are liquid. "May was always going to be a great mom, but you helped me feel like I could be a father."

Their relationship has always been special, close in a way it took Melinda and Daisy much more time to achieve. When Daisy hugs him tight, so tight that he gasps a little as he's dragged onto the sofa. Melinda touches her back, resting her hand on Daisy's shoulder. 

"You're such a dad," Daisy insists. "How could you not know that?"

"He's a little dense." 

Phil feigns indignation, kissing her cheek. "I'm going to tell Mack and Elena you cried."

Mack lost his daughter, so telling him will carry a weight that she can't even imagine. This child of theirs is barely more than an idea, and losing it would cut deep. Losing one that she’s held is unimaginable. Phil kisses her forehead when she’s quiet. 

“I love you.”

That makes him tilt his head, running his fingers along her cheek. “I love you too.”

Melinda keeps Daisy close, but she doesn’t try to retreat. She stays when Phil heads back into the kitchen to finish dinner, and her arm wraps around Melinda’s shoulders. 

“You’ll send us ultrasound pictures when you have them, right?”

She nods. “I don’t think there’s much to look at.”

“I’ve never seen one, but I think I want too.” Daisy hugs her tighter. “Take care of him, okay? Don’t let him get lost in Russia.”

“His Russian is terrible.”

“You’ve said.”

“It’s been terrible for years.” 

Phil smiles at her from the door to the kitchen. Muttering that he heard that in his wretched Russian.

“I don’t have a cat either.”

“I didn’t say cat,” he pauses, the shakes his head, “I think. What’s the word for cat?” 

“кошка.”

“Show off.” He offers his hand to help her off the couch. She doesn’t need it, being lightheaded is no worse than any of the concussions she’s lived through, and Jemma’s fussing is unnecessary. Still, his fingers are warm, and the way he runs his thumb across the back of her hand makes her smile. 

Daisy slips away into the kitchen, leaving them alone in the living room and Melinda watches her dark hair bounce on her shoulders. 

“She’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried about her.”

He takes her other hand, holding them against his chest. “I think we can handle a few months together, just you and me.”

“Sounds like a honeymoon.” Kissing his cheek, she rests against his neck. “Don’t tell my mother. She’d kill me if I eloped again.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, I know there are female cats and male cats in Russian, May choose female. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda and Phil take the Transsiberian and disappear into China together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> didn't mean for my lack of inspiration hiatus to take so long, but...here's a chapter, hooray! thanks for your patience. 
> 
> all the big reunions next chapter, this one felt right to just be them.

She smiles when he can't pull his eyes away, Across from him in the tiny train compartment, Melinda's arms lie crossed on her chest and her hair falls loose. "I'm cold." 

He could just pass her the blanket, or climb out of his bunk and make sure she's tucked it right, but neither of those seems like enough. Phil chuckles. "I can help with that." 

The train whispers to the night, thudding like a heartbeat beneath them. He slips across the little compartment and climbs into her bunk. She rolls on her side, making space for him and he curls his body into hers, sandwiching her between him and the wall. This time, she allows him to guard the door. 

She shudders once, then rests her forehead against his chest. 

"Better?"

Her hand rubs along his arm, grateful. "I know we'll get stiff."

"We might not, we're not--"

They are old, and not, and maybe this will be so much harder than it would have been twenty years ago, but this is where they are now. This is the time they have to be whatever they've become. Lovers, parents, partners, in every sense of the word. 

"Do you think Daisy's all right?"

"Piper speaks some Spanish, Bobbie's is great, if she finds her first. Of course, that won't help her if she starts in Brazil, or finds a place with a difficult dialect but--"

"I'm not worried about logistics."

He kisses her forehead. "She's fine. Probably enjoying a little freedom without us always there."

Melinda shifts her legs, tangling them with his. "I miss her." 

"Me too." He rubs her shoulder. "She'll be back. She knows where to find us. She can call, or write, or hack our phones with some kind of secret message." 

Chuckling into his chest, she sighs. "I like that."

"She won't be far, or Jemma. She worries too much." 

"We're okay, she doesn't have to worry." 

We was never such a heavy word. It could be him and May; they're all right. They miss their team, their family, but they're all right, or  _ we _ is May and the tiny spark of a life. We is her and ther baby, sleeping within her, taking her heat, her blood, the beating of her heart. She'll keep that life safe.

Melinda drags his hand down, rests it on her stomach. Not all the way down, but it's enough. We is three of them now, and they both have to start thinking that way, finding ways to accept that they'll make it, that this will be a child.

Their child. 

* * *

 

"You didn't eat much."

"It tastes strange." 

"You said it smelled good."

"It smelled good, it tastes strange." 

Phil passes her his bread, studying thick stew in his bowl. "We have ramen and I can order porridge from the dining car, that word I'm good at."

Shutting her eyes, she leans against the side of the cabin, hands resting on their little table while the Russian countryside slips away, growing darker as the sun sets. 

"Don't you want to tell me that I can't live on porridge?"

"I could text Simmons and she can tell you."

"I'll eat tomorrow." She doesn't open her eyes, and that little sigh carries the exhaustion that's crept in over the last few days. 

"You can go to bed." 

Melinda smiles, weary, but beautiful. He loves when her hair falls like that on her shoulders. "Finish eating. It's cold without you." 

"Did you take your vitamins?" 

That earns a raised eyebrow and she nods, eyes drifting open, her smile turning into a smirk. "Yes, dear."

"Just checking for Jemma, you know how she worries."

"You can tell Daisy I'm fine, too."

"She only texted twice."

Melinda smiles again, so at ease that he wants to slip around the tiny table and hold her tight. "I miss her."

"Yeah." 

He finishes the last of his stew, picking up the bowls and setting them on the tray to be collected in the morning when their breakfast arrives. He putters around, changing into his pyjamas as the train rattles and rocks. It's a little disconcerting, but after two days, he's getting used to it. Melinda's feet are steadier, but she's always been like that. He washes his face in the tiny sink and then walks back to her and the table. She's really asleep now, head against the wall, hands in her lap. 

The Russian trees watch in dark outside of the window and he leans in to kiss her forehead. 

"You need to brush your teeth."

Yawning, she rests her hand on his arm. "Didn't I do that?"

"Come on, sleepy." He guides her up, holding her against his chest when she leans in. They rock with the train, letting it lull them calm. "It'll pass."

"It's all right."

"I've seen you stay up three nights in a row on mission and be less tired."

"I was going to mention that." She smiles over her toothbrush and has to yawn again, clinging to the sink. "This is worse."

"Good to know."

She removes her bra without taking off her shirt and slips out of her trousers before giving up and clinging into his bunk. Chuckling, he climbs up to sit beside her. "You won't be cold.?"

"You throw enough heat." She yawns again, almost as if it's weaponized, she's so tired.  

Taking pity, he opens his arm and pulls her into his side, kisses her once. Melinda curls up, head in his lap. He strokes her hair, toying with the smooth strands while he reads his book. She's asleep before he's even had a chance to turn a few pages. 

* * *

 

That's how their evenings go for the first four days, slipping across Russia on what once was the most romantic train in the world. He takes a break from  _ Ulysses _ and reads a bootleg Agatha Christie, that only has a few typos, that he bought on a train platform. That she listens to with more interest, even asking him to backtrack when she falls asleep. 

The train is soothing, the rhythm of it lulls them both, and she's so tired it doesn't take much to send her to sleep. The landscape outside of the windows provides an empty canvas to let their minds wander, green and endless. They sit touching, always. Sometimes they talk, about nothing, and the little things. He loved bringing her tea at the Academy because she'd smile so much. Phil was her favorite communication specialist to work with because he was always interesting to talk too. Never boring, even when he rambled. 

They confess missions where they asked to work together and never told the other, how they both enjoyed playing husband and wife because they trusted each other. 

"You were such a cuddler," she teases, easing further into his arms on the bunk. She should sleep in her own and they'll be stiff one of these mornings but he can't let her go.

* * *

 

On the sixth day, they're almost to Mongolia, past the thick pines of Siberia and she can't stop sneezing. It's not allergies, she's never had those, but there are thousands of people on this train and Simmons said her immune system might be a little suppressed. There's nothing he can do, other than hand her tea and tissues and wait and see if it's just a little cold or if it'll catch on hard. 

That night she's too warm against him, almost feverish. Not quite, just on the edge of it, enough that she seeks his body like she's a cat, curling up against him. 

"How's your head?"

"It hurts." 

"Thobbing or stabbing?"

"Does it matter?" She yawns, pressing her forehead in tighter against his chest. 

"Jemma wants to know."

"Oh." It takes a moment for that to sink in, and he wonders if she's fallen asleep. "That's what you were doing."

Whatever magic Daisy and Fitz worked on their phones, they can text from the middle of Siberia and it gets through. Jemma responds to all his worries with patience and useful information. Fevers are common as long as it's not too high. May can't take phenylephrine (if he even knew how to ask for decongestants in Russian) or ibuprofen, but paracetamol is all right. Drink plenty of water. Don't worry. 

The last is for him, but it's futile and Jemma knows it. She tries though. She always tries. 

"There's not much you can do, it's just a cold."

" _ Just _ ." She's so rarely sick he can barely remember the last time she had a cold. Specialists are either terribly whiny when they're ill or so stoic that one can barely tell anything is wrong, and Melinda soldiers on, she always has. 

Melinda shifts to look at him, her face flushed. She coughs once and his chest aches in sympathy. "How many times did you bother Jemma?"

"A few."

"Uh-huh."

The back of her neck's too warm against his fingers and she coughs again. 

"It's a cold."

"I know." 

"Jemma said I'll catch them."

"She did."

"And yet your eyes--"

"What about my eyes?"

Shaking her head, she snuggles in closer and shuts her own. "Did you tell Daisy?"

"She asked how we were doing."

That noise is somewhere between amused and annoyed. "Did you tell her you worry too much?"

"She is very aware that I worry too much."

Melinda coughs once more into his chest, then rolls over, tucking his arms around her. "Good."

He kisses the back of her head and listens to her breathing, fretting long after she's asleep. His phone lights up, and Daisy's awake on the other side of the world. 

**Are you driving her crazy fussing yet?**

He rolls his eyes.  **Actually, May's surprisingly tolerant.**

**She loves you.** Daisy shoots back.  **I hear that changes the rules.**

**Perhaps.** He thinks too long, because Daisy messages back. 

**What's different?**

**What isn't different?** He teases, then thinks, staring at the words on his phone until heknows what to say.  **May's stoic, but that doesn't mean she enjoys it. Believe it or not, she enjoys being held when her head hurts.**

**Yeah, I've seen her asleep in your lap.**

He can picture the smile on Daisy's face. That softness in her eyes. Daisy spent so much of her life away from intimacy, without watching her parents be in love. Phil lost his father young, but her remembers them holding hands and the way his dad put his head in his mom's lap when they'd watch television. He built a foundation on memories of them. That's love. Love feels like his mother's smile. Someday, if he was lucky, he'd have that. He'd find it with someone.

Someone utterly terrifying, wonderful, and funny. Someone asleep in his arms. 

**Would you believe we're sharing a bunk?**

**I believe that more than you sleeping apart.**

He chuckles into the back of Melinda's neck.  **Goodnight, Daisy.**

**Night AC. Night May. Night Agent Baby.**

She gets up to pee, twice, and blows her nose. He opens his arms when she returns and she snuggles in, her head resting on his chest. In two more days they'll be in Beijing, staying in some out of the way hotel with an extravagant bed that they'll barely take up half of. Her legs curl around his, and cramped as this is, he'll miss the quiet, the peace of being able to shut the door and just sit with her in silence.

* * *

 

Disappearing into the crowd at the Beijing West train station is almost too easy. Thousands of people hauling their luggage, trying to find trains and taxis, looking for the subway: it's a mess. He keeps his arm firmly around Melinda's back, holding her close, not because they'll lose each other, and not because she's his, nothing foolish like that, he simply needs to maintain contact, keep her close. 

Melinda navigates the subway effortlessly, leading him to the correct line and even into a seat. She curls into him, head on his shoulder. They could be undercover. She's very good at creating the illusion of intimacy. Melinda's always been the best fake wife he's ever had, but this is real, this is just them, without a veneer of fake lives and cover stories. 

He presses his lips in her hair. They're thousands of miles from home (which is the Zephyr, more than anything, really). He doesn't understand any of the maps or advertisements on the walls, nor the announcements of the stations, but May knows where they're going. 

Their room is a stone house, part of a little hotel, through the stone courtyard, past the little garden. It somehow manages to feel old and hidden, even though they're in the middle of the one of the most populated cities on Earth. May lets him open the door and carry in the bags while she disappears into the bathroom. They barely have much for clothing and he has it all put away by the time she emerges, hair wrapped in a towel and with her robe half open. 

"Good water pressure." 

He touches her shoulder, fascinated by a drop of water on her bare neck. Phil kisses her cheek and she smiles, eyes closed. 

"Go shower." Sitting on the bed, she lies back, her robe open between her breasts and down her stomach. Phil loses a moment, enraptured by her skin before he heads into the bathroom as suggested. 

Stipping off his clothes, he dumps them in the corner to wash later and steps into the heavy spray. Running his hands through his hair, he forces himself to be efficient, wash his skin, shampoo, shave since he's wet and it'll save time in the morning. Pulling on a thick white robe, he sighs, cocooned in softness. 

"You didn't say how nice the robes were."

"Part of why I like this hotel." Her eyes don't open and she hasn't moved. 

Smypathetically brushing his hands over her bare knee, he grabs her legs, lifting them up to the bed. "Scoot back."

"I'll just falla sleep in my robe."

"I'll keep you warm."

She chuckles, dragging herself up to the pillows, eyes still closed. "We barely did anything today." 

Phil sits beside her, taking her hand. "You did plenty."

"That doesn't feel like anything." 

"Making new cells is work May, even if it doesn't leave bruises. " Making a whole new person is a hell of a lot of work, but they're careful in how they talk about it. Like it's still ethereal enough that it might just drift away. 

"A lot of new cells."

Lying down beside her, he returns her smile. "Yeah."

She takes a breath, letting it out slowly before she rolls into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Good thing we don't have anything planned for tomorrow."

Or the next day, or the next. The world can save itself for awhile. All the governments who didn't want SHIELD around can deal with their own alien crises. He should feel worse about that than he does. It's his job to straighten the covers and turn off the lights because she's asleep long before his mind has stopped wondering. 

She curls close to him, not just for warmth, but for comfort, her bare skin against his. 

* * *

 

For more than a week, they play tourist in Beijing. May guides him through the night markets and lesser known tourist traps. He has to beg a visit to the Forbidden City just because there's an oh-eight-four he's always wanted to see in one of the auxiliary throne rooms (it's well protected and that particular little dragon won't be bothering anyone) but he's always wanted to see it, even dormant. 

"It's pretty cute."

"It's a devastating weapon," May reminds him, taking one of his steamed buns. "Definitely not cute."

"Things that are cute can still be devastating, and deadly."

"I'll show you devastating if you're referring to me."

"I'd never call you cute."

"Your poker face is still terrible, you know that, right?"

He hands over the rest of the buns, grinning. "So I've heard, from you."

"Everyone else is too nice to say."

* * *

 

After Beijing, it's another train, another quiet little compartment and a bed that's a shelf instead of anything spacious but this time they pull the mattresses down to the floor and make the space their own. She still ends up curled into him, leg over his and her head on his chest, and the north east of China passes in a blur past the windows. 

A few days and they're in the Blue City, disappearing into crowds beneath signs in Mongolian and Mandarin and from the look on May's face, the dialect has shifted. She can make her way through, more through stubbornness than anything, The drink milk tea and have breakfast, waiting for the next train, and the trains get smaller and less crowded as they disappear. 

May says they're loosely following the Yellow River, and the trees give way to grasslands, and Stepps that thousands of hoses once raced across. He picks up his book again while Melinda falls asleep. She curls into his lap without any coaxing and he reads to the left of her head. Joyce's rolling green sea echoes the sea of grass outside the window and they travel onward, turning days like pages. 

They stop in another courtyard house, this one surrounded by trees and farmland instead of more houses. The landlady explains it to May slowly, careful with her Mandarin. Their cover story as writers makes them interesting but not terribly so. Maybe she thinks Phil supports them, or they're actually drug traffickers. As long as she doesn't think they're spies, they're fine. Their money is good enough. 

The grand tour takes them through the outer courtyard, all cobblestones and carved stone birds. The toilets have been renovated to have plumbing, and the kitchen's old, but the knives look fairly sharp. There's no internet, the electricity in this part of town is unreliable, but there are solar panels and some half-decent batteries. Mack or Fitz could do something incredible with this place, but they're somewhere else in the world, and lanterns and candles just add ambiance. 

It's like camping, some nights, when the rain drums down and they eat dinner with six candles on the table. The nights grow longer, and cooler, and Melinda curls up beside him, wrapped in a blanket, watching some terrible movie with Daisy over the internet (which is miraculously working tonight after Daisy explained something involving wrapping up the cables). 

Daisy looks well, she's been in the sun, and she's eating breakfast instead of popcorn (but she has cornflakes, it counts). She doesn't tell them where she is, or if she's with anyone, but she's safe, and happy to see them, even across a laptop screen. 

"Don't let her fall asleep, she'll miss the best part."

"How does one define the best part of a film involving flying sharks?"

"Ghost sharks, Phil, keep up." 

"Do they fly?"

Daisy smirks over her spoon. "Yeah, like, in a ghostly hovering way." 

"So I'm perfectly right." 

"Technically right, not in a way that's useful, classic communications."

"You just want to know what to hit it with."

"The sharks are a threat, are you saying I shouldn't know how to neutralize them?"

"Is this what your dinners alone are like?" Daisy teases, taking a sip of her coffee. "How do we defeat ghost sharks?"

"When she can stay awake for dinner."

Melinda rolls her eyes, making that soft frustrating little sound in the back of her throat. "Not fair."

"It's not my cooking."

"It's only a few more weeks," Daisy promises. ""Did you download that app?"

Shifting her head slightly on his lap, Melinda shakes her head no. 

"It's helpful."

"Phil has it."

He nods, grinning. "I do. Melinda's less amused by what size fruit the baby's most like."

"I'm not going to eat it."

"It's to help it make sense to you."

"None of this makes sense to me," Melinda complains but Daisy's smile is so bright that Melinda must be smiling. 

"I miss you guys."

"We'll see you soon."

"I know." 

Daisy looks down, taking her eyes off the screen, then beams at them. "You're going to look pregnant, aren't you?"

"My breasts already look pregnant." She's still bitter about having to stop wearing one of her favorite bras. Daisy might be more sympathetic about that, but Phil's tried. 

"They look great."

"They're sore."

"I'm sorry."

Melinda waves that away. "It's a good thing." 

"Jemma said she found you a doctor she likes?"

"Nowhere close to us."

Phil kisses her head. "We're not close to anything."

"That's not for two weeks either," Melinda reminds him, trying not to yawn.

"Next week," Phil corrects. "We'll send it to you." 

Daisy gives them both a stern look (kind of like May's). "You'd better." 

"We promise," he says, toying with her hair. It's impossible not to miss her presence, but hearing her voice and watching her smile does help. 

"Take care, you three," Daisy teases, and signs off after they say good night. 

Melinda sighs, then rolls over to look up at him. She reaches up and caresses his cheek smiling a little at the stubble.  "I miss her." 

"Me too." He moves her fingertips to his lips and kisses them. "It's a few more weeks, she'll find Mack and Yo-Yo, Davis, Piper...we'll be invaded before we know it. All the quiet will be over and you'll be rolling your eyes because they're watching you do tai chi." 

Tracing his lip with her fingers, she smiles. "Everything is a few more weeks."

But they pass, before either of them really notices, two more weeks and Jemma says the risk of miscarriage will be less than two percent. A handful of weeks after that and the baby will be more than a hint of roundness in May's stomach. 

Then she'll move.

He'll kick. 

Considering their mother, he expects a lot of power in those little legs. 

Tugging his head don, she kisses him, all sleepy and warm. "I'm so used to just thinking about tomorrow, of the mission, weeks seem like an eternity."

"If I'm with you, might be kind of nice." He kisses her cheek, then her forehead. "Bet it'll just fly by." He rests his hand on her stomach and her expression softens until her heart shines naked in her eyes He doesn't have words for that kind of happiness, that fragility, but he knows what it feels like, hot in his chest. 


End file.
